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VOL.  X. 


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THE 


&epogttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  fyc. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


July  1,  1820. 


N°  LV. 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  PAGK 

1.  A  Garden-Fountain             ........  j 

2.  View  of  the  Isola  Bella,  taken  from  Stuesa         .         .         .  43 

3.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress       .......  51 

4.  Court  Dress             ........  52 

5.  Draperies  for  a  Half-sexagon  Bow  Window    ....  53 

6.  Pattern  for  Black  and  White  Inlaid  Work. 


CONTENTS. 


Hints  on  Ornamental  Gardening.  —  A 
Garden- Fountain 

MISCELLANIES. 

Correspondence  of  the  Adviser      .     .     . 
The  Generous  Friends,  from  the  Spanish 

Parisian  Sketches,  No.  IX 

Memoirs  of  Myself 

The  Art  of  Book-making 

Paul  Jones 

TheBetrothment  (continued  from  vol.  IX 

p.  284) 

Adventures  of  Dr.  Syntax 

On  the  Organ 

On  St.  Valentine's  Dav 

The  Female  Tattler.— No.    LV.    .     .     . 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Kalkrrenner's  Air,  with  Variations  . 

Birrowes's  Series  of  Caledonian  Airs, 
with  Variations 

Dramatic  Airs,  arranged  as  Rondos 

Frost's  Albion  Rondo 

Harris's  Ode  for  three  Voices,  a  Tribute 
to  the  Memory  of  our  late  Most  Gra- 
cious Majesty "... 

Monro's  "  Take  him  and  try"        .     •     . 

"  Heroes  of  Albion,    in  your 

glory  weep" 

his  Majesty  George  IV.'s  Grand 

March 

Fart/.ett's  "  The  Farewell"      .... 

Beaje's  "  Ah!  tell  me  no  more,  mv  dear 
Girl" 


AGE 
1 

2 

4 

7 

13 

20 
25 

28 
32 
35 
36 
ib. 


40 


ib. 
43 

ib. 


Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon. 

View  of  the  Isola  Bella,  taken  from 
Stresa 43 


ib.  1 
43 

ib. 


FINE  ARTS. 

The  British  Institution 45 

M.  Jerricault's  large  Picture    ....     48 

Intelligence  regarding  Works  of  Art. 

Completion  of  the  great  Metallic  Vase 
at  Mr.  Thomason's  Manufactory,  Bir- 
mingham      50 

FASHIONS. 

London    Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Walking 

Dress .51 

Ladies'  Court  Dress 53 

General  Observations  on    Fashion    and 

Dress 53 

French  Female  Fashions        55 

Fashionable  Furniture. — Draperies  for 
a  Half-sexagon  Bow  Window     ...     58 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Of  the  Education  of  Madame  de  Staei., 
and  her  early  Years  (from  "  Sketch 
of  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Ma- 
dame de  Staei.,"  by  Madame  Necker 
de  Saussure ift. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC      .     .     . 


62 


L,  Harrison.  Printer,  -j'o,  Strand, 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  ivorks  which  they  may  have  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert 
them,  as  ive  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  Neiv  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  neiv  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

The  conclusion  of  the  Tale  from  Cervantes,  called  The  Generous  Lover,  next 
month. 

We  have  been  compelled  by  press  of  matter  to  delay  the  continuation  of  The  Ad- 
ventures of  a  Would-be  Author. 

T.  L.  if  possible,  in  our  next. 

Such  readers  as  have  inquired  after  the  continuation  of  the  unpublished  Corre- 
spondence of  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu,  are  informed  that  another  letter  will  be  inserted 
without  delay. 

The  lines  by  S.  S.  of  Leigh,  are  not  admissible,  for  the  reuson  assigned  by  the 
author. 


Persons  who  reside  abroad,  and  who  wish  to  he  supplied  with  this  Work  every  Month  as 
published,  may  have  it  sent  to  them,  free  of  Postage,  to  New-York,  Halifax,  Quebec,  and 
to  any  part  of  the  West  Indies,  at  £t  12s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Thornhill,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  SI,  Sherborne- Lane ;  to  Hamburgh,  Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta,  or 
any  Part  of  the  Mediterranean,  at  £4  12s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Serjeant,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  22,  Sherboruc-iane ;  and  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  any  part  of  the 
East  Indies,  by  Mr.  Guv,  at  the  East-India  House.  The  money  to  be  paid  at  the  time  of 
subscribing,   for  either  y,  ti,  9,  or  12  months. 


A  <& ARBEIT   FOUJTTAIK 


^',D1Ws.REP<}Sm>Kr<it~-4[<TSS!xJ^J>''JuJyiJd20. 


THE 


Beposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  8$c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


July  1,   1820. 


N°  LV. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL- GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  vol.  IX.  p.  311.) 
PLATE  1. — A    GARDEN-FOUNTAIN. 


The  annexed  design  for  a  small 
fountain,  about  seven  feet  high, 
consists  of  a  circular  platform 
and  ornamented  stem,  surrounded 
by  three  dolphins,  from  which  six 
jets-ffeau  issue  around  the  central 
one,  which  should  rise  to  a  consi- 
derable height,"  falling  together 
into  the  platform,  and  thence  into 
a  shell-like  reservoir  in  front,  and 
also  into  a  lower  basin  on  the 
ground  in  the  rear,  a  view  of  which 
is  concealed  by  the  pedestals  and 
plinths  in  front. 

The  prevailing  fashion  in  favour 
of  these  interesting  means  of  gar- 

VolX.  No.LF. 


den  embellishment,  has  given  great 
encouragement  to  their  manufac- 
ture, and  artificial  stone  is  so  ad- 
mirably suited  to  the  purpose,  that 
even  sumptuous  designs  are  exe- 
cuted at  a  moderate  expense.  Mr. 
Bubb,  the  sculptor,  is  now  engaged 
in  the  execution  of  several  foun- 
tains in  this  way,  and  also  of  the 
annexed  design  :  these,  from  bein«- 
readily  moulded,  are  capable  of 
quick  fabrication,  and  become  ad- 
mirably suited  to  the  East  and  West 
Indies,  where  they  would  be  no- 
vel, cheerful,  and  greatly  orna- 
mental. 
B 


MISCELLANIES. 


CORRESPONDENCE  OF  THE  ADVISER. 
I  was  sitting  the  other  day  ex-  m  tell  you  a  secret,  my  compassion 


amining  the  contents  of  my  writ 
ins-desk,  in  order  to  select  such  ! 
letters  of  my  correspondents  as  I 
deemed  most  fit  for  publication,  \ 
when  my  friend  O'Brallaghan  was  { 
announced.  As  soon  as  he  entered 
the  room,  I  saw  that  something  had 
ruffled  his  temper,  and  before  I 
could  inquire  what  it  was,  he  told 
me  that  he  came  to  ask  my  advice. 
"  You  must  know,"  continued  he, 
"  I  have  justbeen  mightily  ill-treat- 
ed by  a  lady,  who,  after  inviting 
me  to  make  proposals  of  marriage, 
has  accepted  the  hand  of  another 
gentleman;  and  upon  my  telling 
the  story  to  a  friend,  he  was  rude 
enough  to  laugh  at  my  disappoint- 
ment, and  even  went  so  far  as  to 
tell  me  I  had  no  right  to  blame  the 
lady." 

"  By  your  account  of  the  mat- 
ter," said  I,  "  that  was  rude  in- 
deed; but  let  me  clearly  compre- 
hend you:  did  the  lady  actually 
and  hoiia  Jide  give  you  to  under- 
stand, that  your  proposals  would  be 
acceptable?  or  was  it  only  from  her 
behaviour  that  you  fancied— — " 

"  Fancied!"  repeated  he  indig- 
nantly; "  why  there  was  no  fancy 
at  all  in  the  case.  Some  days  ago 
I  saw  an  advertisement  in  one  of 
the  morning  papers,  a  fine  senti- 
mental effusion  in  nonsensical  Eng- 
lish and  scraps  of  French,  from 
which  you  could  just  pick  out,  that 
the  lady  was  a  widow,  rich,  and  in 
want  of  a  husband.  Well,  you 
know  we  Irishmen  aretender-heart- 


for  the  lady  was  a  little  stimulated 
by  my  being  confoundedly  out  at 
elbows;  for  as  I  never  was  much 
given  to  calculation,  I  put  off  from 
time  to  time  the  forming  a  regular 
scale  for  my  expenses,  till  I  had 
nothing  more  to  spend:  so  away  I 
flew  to  the  place  appointed  by  the 
lady,  saw  her,  found  that  I  was 
the  first  person  who  had  made  ap- 
plication, and  took  care,  you  may 
be  sure,  to  give  m}"self  such  a  cha- 
racter as  I  thought  must  insure  my 
success.  The  lady  listened  with 
complacency,  but  declined  saying 
any  thing  positive  till  the  next  day, 
when  she  promised  to  inform  me  of 
her  final  determination.  However, 
she  had  not  the  politeness  to  keep 
her  promise;  so  as  I  thought  her 
silence  proceeded  from  modesty, 
I  thought,  in  order  to  spare  her 
blushes,  I  would  write  at  once,  to 
ask  her  when  I  was  to  wait  upon 
her  with  a  licence;  and  would  you 
believe  it,  she  replied  veryr  laco- 
nically', that  she  had,  since  we  met, 
seen  a  gentleman  whose  character 
seemed  better  suited  than  mine  to 
her  views  of  domestic  happiness. 
There's  an  abominable  jilt  for  you  ! 
After  I  had  assured  her,  that  ex- 
cept a  little  inclination  for  hazard, 
a  habit  of  sitting  late  after  dinner, 
and  a  certain  degree  of  forgetful- 
ness  in  money  matters,  I  had  not  a 
fault  in  the  world." 

"  Why  to  be  sure,"  said  I, 
"  these  were  trifles." 

"That's  what  I  said  when  I  told 


ed  in  these  cases;  and,  besides,  to  I  the  story  to  Dick  Downright,  whom 


CORRESPONDKNC  J-.    OP    THE    ADVISER. 


I  always  looked  upon  as  a  very  sen- 
sible fellow,  till  he  shewed  himself 
a  fool  by  taking  part  with  this  ri- 
diculous woman.  I  can't  pass  that, 
you  know,  my  dear  Sagephiz.  1 
must  call  him  out;  but  I  can't  very 
well  do  it  till  I  raise  a  few  hun- 
dreds to  pay  him  an  old  loan  which 
I  had  almost  forgotten,  because, 
in  case  the  poor  fellow  fell,  it 
would  be  a  comfort  to  think  that  he 
could  not  say  afterwards,  I  took  a 
mean  advantage  in  fighting  him 
while  I  was  in  his  debt." 

These  words  gave  me  a  clue  to 
prevent  the  duel,  and  I  gravely  be- 
gan to  descant  on  the  badness  of 
the  times,  and  the  utter  impossi- 
bility of  borrowing  money,  when 
I  was  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  R ,  one  of  my  old- 
est friends,  who.  when  I  saw  him 
last  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  was  in 
perfect  health,  and  remarkably  ro- 
bust-looking, but  is  now  as  pale  as 
a  ghost,  and  emaciated  almost  to  a 
skeleton.  Shocked  at  his  appear- 
ance, I  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
**  Good  Heavens  !  my  dear  friend, 
how  ill  you  look  !" 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  cried 
he  in  a  tremulous  tone;  "  I  am  per- 
fectly well." 

"  But  3-0U  must  have  been  very 
ill  to  be  thus  dreadfully  changed 
in  your  appearance." 

"  It  is  very  odd  how  every  body 
harps  upon  my  appearance  :  1  tell 
you  I  am  very  well  now,  and  I 
have  not  been  ill,  only  heartily 
frightened  at  discovering  that  I  had 
just  escaped  from  being  poisoned." 

"  Poisoned!"  cried  I,"  by  what 
means?" 

"  Why,  by  the  same  means  that 
are  used  to  poison  vou,  and  everv 
bedy  else,  who  is  not  aware  of  the 


cursed  arts  daily  put  in  practice 
against  you  by  the  baker,  the 
brewer,  the  cheesemonger,  the  gro- 
cer, in  short,  by  all  those  who  sup- 
ply vou  with  food  and  drink.  Hea- 
ven be  praised,  I  have  found  them 
out  at  last,  and  now  I  have  done 
with  them  all !" 

"  And  how  do  you  contrive  to 
exist?" 

"  Why,  as  every  rational  man 
who  does  not  want  to  die  of  slow 
poison  ought  to  do.  I  have  dis- 
carded tea  and  coffee  altogether; 
I  eat  only  captain's  biscuits,  which 
it  is  next  to  impossible  for  them  to 
adulterate.  Cheese,  porter,  pas- 
trv,  sweetmeats,  and  a  thousand 
things  more,  I  am  forced  to  give 
up,  because  of  the  poisonous  sub- 
stances which  are  mixed  with  them. 
Veal  and  pork  I  must  not  eat,  from 
the  manner  in  which  they  blow  the 
one  and  feed  the  other;  but  then 
I  have  plenty  of  mutton  and  beef." 

"  But  vou  cannot  live  upon  bis- 
cuit, mutton,  and  beef,"  cried  J, 
"  you  who  are  so  much  of  an  epi- 
cure." 

"  Speak  in  the  past  tense,  if  you 
please,"  said  my  friend  :  "  I  must 
own,  that  three  months  ago  I  was 
rather  addicted  to  the  pleasures  of 
the  table;  but  as  soon  as  my  eyes 
were  opened  to  the  state  of  my 
health " 

"  Why,"  interrupted  I,  "  to  my 
knowledge,  at  that  time  you  were 
perfectly  well;  you  looked " 

"Pshaw!"  cried  he,  interrupt- 
ing me  in  his  turn,  and  in  a  most 
petulant  tone;  "  no  matter  how  I 
looked,  or  how  I  felt,  1  tell  you  I 
could  not  be  well.  I  am  convinced 
it  is  morally  impossible  for  any 
man,  however  well  he  may  appear, 
tg  be  in  perfect  health-,  who  par- 
B    :• 


THE    UENEKOUS    FRIENDS. 


takes  of  the  villainous  compounds 
which  the  people  of  this  metropo- 
lis term  food  and  drink.  Thank 
Heaven,  I  have  done  with  all  their 
poisonous  stuffs:  biscuit,  beef,  mut- 
ton, and  water  will  satisfy  me  for 
the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  But  why  water?"  said  I :  "  sure- 
ly a  glass  of  generous  wine  would 
be  of  service  in  sustaining  you  un- 
der the  new  regimen  you  are  pur- 
suing." 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  go  to  Spain 
or  Portugal  to  drink  it;  but  you 
would  not  have  me  swallow  the 
sloe-juice  which  they  call  port  in 
this  country." 

"  Indeed,  and  you  are  right 
enough  there,"  said  O'Brallaghan  ; 
"  never  drink  a  drop  of  port  as 
long  as  you  live;  stick  to  claret,  my 
old  boy." 

"  Claret!"  repeated  he  in  a  dole 
ful  tone ;  "  oh  !  no  :  a  worthy  friend 
of  mine  proved  the  other  day  to  a 
demonstration,  that  French  wine, 
even  if  one  could  get  it  genuine, 
which,  by  the  bye,  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible, is  particularly  pernicious  to 
the  stomach." 

"  Why  then,  if  you  will  only 
listen  to  me,"  said  O'Brallaghan, 
"  I  will  demonstrateplainly  enough, 
that  he  is  a  fool;  for  wouldn't  an}' 
man  in  his  senses  rather  be  killed 
at  once  by  slow  poison,  than  live 
all  the  days  of  his  life,  and  be 
murdered  every  moment  by  star- 


vation ?  As  to  French  wine  being 
unwholesome,  only  ask  my  father 
about  that;  sure  he  will  tell  you,  if 
it  is  slow  poison,  it  must  be  the 
slowest  that  ever  was  invented,  for 
he  has  swallowed  from  two  to  five 
bottles  of  it  every  day  for  the  last 
fifty  years,  and  now  at  seventy- 
five  he  is  as  hearty  an  old  buck  as 
any  in  the  four  provinces." 

My  friend's  rhetoric  could  not 
convince  Mr.  R.  and  each  applied 
to  me  in  full  confidence,  that  I 
would  take  his  side  of  the  question  ; 
but,  as  is  very  often  the  case,  I  of- 
fended both,  by  proposing  a  mid- 
dle course.  In  the  fervour  of  my 
desire  to  prevent  the  one  from 
drinking  himself  to  death,  and  the 
other  from  destroying  his  consti- 
tution, by  passing  abruptly  to  the 
most  severe  abstinence  from  what 
is  termed  good-living,  I  detained 
them  so  long,  that  I  found,  upon 
their  departure,  I  should  not  have 
the  time  necessary  to  consider  what 
advice  I  ought  to  give  to  my  cor- 
respondents, if  I  inserted  any  of 
their  letters  in  the  present  num- 
ber. 'If,  like  other  great  person- 
ages, I  chose  to  be  mysterious,  I 
might  assign  secret  reasons  of  high 
importance  for  keeping  their  let- 
ters back;  but  as  I  scorn  all  disgui- 
ses, I  have  told  them  truly  the  cause 
of  the  omission,  which  I  shall  en- 
deavour to  repair  next  month. 
S.  Sagephiz. 


THE  GENEROUS  FRIENDS. 

(From  the  Spanish). 


FROM  my  infancy  I  have  de- 
voted myself  to  arms,  and  the 
Spanish  nation  being  at  war  with 
no  foreign  power,  I  took  the  op- 
portunity  of  going   into    Poland. 


the  Turks  having  declared  war 
against  that  country.  I  presented 
myself  to  the  king,  and  obtained 
a  rank  in  the  army.  As  I  was  only 
a  vounger  son  of  a  very  poor  Spa- 


THE   GKMEROUia    PRIENDS. 


.5 


rush  family,  it  was  necessary  that 
I  should,  if  possible,  signalize  my- 
self in  some  engagement,  by  which 
I  might  merit  the  attention  of  the 
commanding  officer.  I  succeeded 
so  much  to  his  satisfaction,  that 
the  king  promoted  me,  and  placed 
me  in  a  situation  to  continue  in 
his  service  with  honour  to  myself. 
After  a  long  war,  the  successful 
termination  of  which  is  well  known, 
I  left  the  army,  and  sought  the 
court;  and  his  majesty,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  good  report  which 
my  officers  gave  of  me,  was  pleas- 
ed to  bestow  a  considerable  pen- 
sion upon  me.  Gratified  by  the 
generosity  of  the  king,  I  lost  no 
time  in  expressing  my  acknow- 
ledgments. I  was  suffered  to  enter 
into  his  presence  on  a  few  parti- 
cular occasions,  and,  by  my  con- 
duct, I  insensibly  insinuated  my- 
self into  his  love,  and  received  new 
proofs  of  his  generosity. 

Shortly  subsequent,  I  signalized 
myself  at  a  tournament,  and  sur- 
passed* even  my  former  good  for- 
tune, and  the  whole  court  applaud- 
ed me  for  my  valour  and  dexterity. 
I  returned  home  greeted  by  accla- 
mations from  all  sides,  and  there 
found  a  billet  from  a  lady,  whose 
conquest  flattered  me  more  than 
all  the  honour  and  applauses  of 
the  day.  She  informed  me,  that 
she  earnestly  desired  to  speak  with 
me,  and  that  at  night-fall  she  would 
meet  me  at  a  spot  which  she  named 
in  the  billet.  The  praises  I  had 
received  at  the  tournament  were 
almost  effaced  by  the  delight  of 
the  expected  interview,  not  doubt- 
ing that  it  was  a  lady  of  the 
highest  distinction  who  had  re- 
quested my  presence.  You  will 
easily  belie\e  that  I  did  not  de- 


lay, and  that  scarcely  had  the 
night  begun  to  advance,  before  I 
flew  to  the  place  appointed.  When 
I  arrived  at  the  spot,  I  found  there 
an  old  woman,  who  served  me  as  a 
guide,  and  conducted  me  through 
a  portal  into  a  garden,  and  from 
thence  into  a  chamber  richly  fur- 
nished :  here  she  left  me,  saying, 
"  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
wait,  I  will  inform  my  mistress." 
I  cast  my  eyes  round  the  chamber, 
and  discovered  a  thousand  valuable 
and  inestimable  curiosities  :  the 
room  was  lighted  with  a  profusion 
of  wax-candles  ;  and  I  was  thus 
confirmed  in  the  conception  I  had 
formed  of  the  nobility  of  the  lady 
who  had  summoned  me  to  her  pre- 
sence. But  if  this  sight  confirmed 
my  idea  that  she  was  a  lady  of 
rank  and  fortune,  how  much  more 
was  I  assured  of  the  fact,  when  she 
appeared  before  me  with  an  air 
truly  noble,  grand,  and  majestic! 
Notwithstanding  this,  I  was  disap- 
pointed in  my  expectations. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  after  having 
already  expressed  myself  enamour- 
ed of  your  person,  it  would  be 
useless,  and  even  impertinent,  in 
me  to  dissimulate  the  tender  sen- 
timents which  you  have  excited  in 
my  heart.  Do  not  suppose,  that 
the  great  applause  which  has  been 
manifested  at  court  in  your  behalf 
has  alone  inspired  this  passion;  the 
manner  in  which  you  have  this  day 
signalized  yourself,  has  only  serv- 
ed to  urge  me  with  more  precipi- 
tation to  a  declaration  of  my  sen- 
timents. I  have  been  already  in- 
formed of  your  good  services,  and 
the  advantageous  light  in  which 
you  have  been  represented  to  me, 
has  the  more  firmly  determined  me 
to  follow  my  inclination. — But  do 


6 


THE    GENEROUS    FRIENDS. 


not  flatter  yourself,"  she  added, 
"  that  in  me  you  have  made  the 
conquest  of  a  duchess.  I  am  in- 
deed no  more  than  the  widow  of 
an  officer  of  the  guards,  and  the 
only  inducement  I  can  present  to 
you,  is  the  preference  I  give  to 
you  over  one  of  the  greatest  men 
in  the  kingdom.  The  Prince  of 
Radrivil  loves  me,  and  has  done 
all  in  his  power  to  commence  a 
correspondence  with  me;  but  I  do 
not  love  him,  and  I  only  allowed 
his  addresses  out  of  vanity" 

Although  I  well  knew  by  this 
discourse,  that  I  was  dealing  with 
one  well  acquainted  with  the  in- 
trigues of  love,  I  did  not  fail  to 
acknowledge  the  delight  I  felt  in 
this  happy  meeting.  Madame  Hor- 
tensia  (that  being  her  name)  was 
in  the  flower  of  youth,  and  I  was 
enchanted  by  her  overpowering 
beauty.  It  may  be  attributed  to 
this,  that  I  offered  to  become  the 
master  of  that  heart  which  she 
had  refused  to  a  prince.  It  was 
indeed  a  great  triumph  for  a  ba- 
chelor and  a  Spaniard.  I  threw 
myself  at  the  feet  of  Hortensia,  to 
return  thanks  for  the  high  honour 
she  had  conferred  upon  me.  I 
said  as  much  as  a  man  impassioned 
with  love  could  say,  and  1  believe 
that  I  gave  her  satisfaction  b}'  the 
lively  expressions  with  which  I  de- 
clared my  fidelity  and  submission. 
We  parted  the  best  friends  in  the 
world,  and  weagreed  thatweshould 
see  each  other  when  the  Prince  of 
Radrivil  was  unable  to  visit  her: 
she  promised  to  undertake  the 
charge  of  informing  me  exactly 
of  this  circumstance.  Thus  in  a 
moment  1  was  made  and  became 
the  Adonis  to  mv  new  Venus. 

But  the  pleasures  of  this  life  are 


of  short  duration.  In  spite  of  all 
the  precautions  which  the  lady  took 
to  prevent  the  knowledge  of  our 
intimacy  coming  to  the  ears  of  my 
rival,  he  at  length  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact.  A  discon- 
tented servant  gave  him  the  infor- 
mation. Naturally  of  a  generous 
disposition,  but  fiery,  jealous,  and 
violent  in  his  temper,  he  became 
indignant  at  my  audacity.  Anger 
and  passion  overcame  his  natural 
good  sense,  and  governed  solely 
by  his  rage,  he  determined  to  take 
revenge  upon  me  in  a  manner  the 
most  disgraceful.  One  night  when 
I  was  in  the  house  of  Hortensia, 
he  laid  in  wait  for  me  at  the  gar- 
den-gate, accompanied  by  his  ser- 
vants armed  with  heavy  clubs.  As 
soon  as  I  came  out,  the}'  were  to 
fall  upon  me,  and  to  beat  me  to  a 
mummy  with  their  blows.  '*  Be 
not  too  sparing  with  your  clubs," 
said  the  prince;  "  kill  him  with 
your  blows,  and  thus  I  shall  ob- 
tain some  recompence  for  his  inso- 
lent temeritv."  Scarcely  had  he 
uttered  these  words,  when  I  ap- 
peared; they  all  fell  upon  me,  and 
gave  me  so  many  blows,  and  dealt 
them  with  so  much  effect,  that  they 
left  me  stretched  upon  the  ground 
senseless,  and  dead  to  all  appear- 
ance. The  servants  in  the  mean 
time  retired  with  their  master,  to 
whom  this  cruel  punishment  had 
been  a  source  of  pleasure  and 
gratification.  In  themorning,  some 
persons  passed  me,  who  observing 
that  I  yet  breathed,  had  the  cha- 
rity to  carry  me  to  a  surgeon.  By 
good  fortune  my  woundswere  found 
not  to  be  mortal,  and  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  fall  into  skilful  hands: 
in  the  course  of  less  than  two 
months  I   was  perfectly  recovered. 


PARISIAN   SKB  rCHJ  - 


At  the  end  of  this  time,  I  again 
made  my  appearance  at  court, 
where  1  followed  the  same  course 
as  I  did  previous  to  this  adven- 
ture, with  this  difference,  that  I 
took  care  not  to  revisit  the  house 
of  Madame  Hortensia.  This  lady, 
on  her  part,  was  equally  desirous 
never  to  see  me  again,  as  upon  this 
stipulation  she  was  received  into 
the  favour  of  the  Prince  of  Rad- 
rivii. 

As  all  were  acquainted  with  this 
adventure,  and  no  one  thought 
me  a  coward,  every  body  was  as- 
tonished that  I  bore  the  insult  with 
so  much  serenity  and  composure. 
They  did  not  reflect  upon  the  cause 
of  my  apparent  insensibility.  On 
the  one  hand,  it  was  observed,  that, 
notwithstanding  my  valour,  the 
quality  of  the  aggressor  restrained 
me  from  revenging  the  insult. 
Others,  with  more  reason,  suspected 
my  silence,  and  only  wondered  at 
the  calm  deceit  which  concealed 
my  anger  in  such  a  situation.  The 
king  thought  so  also,  and  knew 
that  I  was  a  man  very  unlikely  to 
forget  an  insult,  which  wounded 
deeply  my  honour  and  my  charac- 
ter, without  taking  an  opportunity 
oi'  revenging    myself.       In    order 


therefore  to  ascertain  the  truth  of 
bis  suspicions,  he  called  me  one 
day  into  his  closet,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed me  :    "  Don   Pompeyo,  I 
have  been  acquainted  with  the  mis- 
fortune  which    has  befallen   you, 
and  I  confess  that  I  am  astonished 
at  your  tranquillity.     You  certain - 
i  ly  dissimulate?" — "  Sir,"  I  replied, 
"   I  am  wholly  ignorant  who  is  my 
aggressor ;  for  I  was  assaulted  in 
the  night-time  by  masked  men,  who 
were  entirely  unknown  to  ine,  and 
I  know  not  what  method  to  pursue 
to  console  myself  in  my  disgrace." 
— "  No,  no,"  answered  the  king; 
"do  not  expectto  deceive  me  by  this 
false  reply.     I  am  acquainted  with 
\  the  whole  affair.     The  Prince  of 
l  Radrivil  was  the  man  who  mortally 
offended  you.    You  are  courageous 
;  and  a  Spaniard,  and  I  well  know 
j  that  these   two  qualifications  will 
'  not  suffer  you  to  remain  unreven- 
ged.      Without   doubt,    vou    have 
formed    a    resolution    to    revenue 
yourself,  and   I  command   you    to 
inform  me  of  the  plan  you    have 
marked  out  to  accomplish  this  pur- 
pose.    Be    assured  that   you    will 
not  repent  having  confided  the  se«? 
I  cret  to  me." 

(To  be  continued.) 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES,     - 

No.   IX. 

AN  ANECDOTE  OF  OUR  OWN  TIMES. 

Les  homines  d'affaires  sont-ils  pins  dangereux  qu'utiles?   Qui  croiroit  qu'nne   pareille 
question  a  etc  resulue  arrirmativement  par  ceux-meines  qui  ne  peuvent  s'en  passer. 

It  is  now  about  twenty-six  or 
twenty-seven  years  since  M.  de 
Rosanges  was  obliged  to  leave 
France,  and  take  up  his  abode  in 
a   foreign    land.      A    longer   resi- 


worthy  man,  who  besides,  at  the 
time  of  his  Right,  flattered  him- 
self that  his  voluntary  exile  would 
be  but  of  short  duration.  Under 
these  circumstances,  the  prepara- 
dence  in  his  native  country  would  \  tions  for  his  departure  were  made 
have  endangered  the  life  of  that  j  with  the  greatest  secrecy.    No  i     ■ 


8 


PAKISTAN  SKETCHES* 


had  the  least;  suspicion  of  the  de- 
termination he  had  taken,  and  it 
was  only  by  mere  chance,  that  at 
the  moment  he  threw  himself  into 
his  post-chariot,  he  was  accosted 
by  James  and  Clement  Bidaut. 

These  brothers  were  tenants  of 
M.  de  Rosanges,  and  had  for  some 
years  past  acted  as  his  bailiffs  for 
the  greater  part  of  his  landed  pro- 
perty. A  bad  harvest  had  caused 
some  delay  in  their  payments,  and 
they  had  now  come  to  settle  for  two 
years'  rents,  which  they  were  in- 
debted to  him.  Two  hours  sooner, 
this  money  would  have  been  most 
welcome,  but  the  departure  of  M. 
de  Rosanges  could  not  be  delayed 
another  minute;  danger  threaten- 
ed him  on  all  sides;  and  finding 
it  impossible  to  arrange  with  the 
two  brothers,  he  gave  them  proper 
acquittances  for  the  rent  they  had 
brought  him.  He  took  leave  of  them, 
saying,  "  I  am  now  going  from 
home,  and  trust  I  shall  not  long  be 
absent;  but  if,  contrary  to  my  ex- 
pectations, I  should  be  obliged  to 
protract  my  stay  beyond  the  pe- 
riod I  at  present  propose,  I  will 
write  to  you.  Keep  this  money  as 
a  deposit,  which  I  intrust  to  your 
probity,  and  which  may  one  day 
be  of  more  use  to  me  than.it  could 
be  at  present.  Continue  to  pay 
your  usual  attention  to  my  proper- 
ty ;  conceal  my  departure  from 
every  one  ;  the  least  indiscretion 
might  be  attended  with  fatal  con- 
sequences to  me,  and  I  am  sure 
you  would  not  willingly  cause  the 
destruction  of  a  master  who  loves 
you." — "Ah!  dear  sir,"  cried  the 
two  brothers  at  once,  "  we  would 
sooner  die  than  injure  you  in  the 
least.  We  will  keep  the  17,000 
francs  which  we  have  brought  with 


us,  till  you  shall  be  pleased  to  or- 
der otherwise  ;  they  shall  always 
be  at  your  disposal :  for,look'ye,  we 
will  never  suffer  the  money  to  go 
out  of  our  hands  under  any  pre- 
text whatever.  We'll  take  our 
oaths  of  that."  Saying  this,  they 
both  raised  their  hands  to  heaven 
as  if  to  witness  their  promise,  and 
remained  motionless  in  that  atti- 
tude, gazing  after  the  chaise  until 
it  had  driven  out  of  sight. 

The  precipitation  with  which 
M.  de  Rosanges  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  his  family  and  his  country, 
had  not  allowed  him  time  to  put 
his  affairs  in  order.  The  secrecy 
he  resolved  to  keep  respecting  his 
flight,  had  rendered  it  impossible; 
and  his  enemies,  deceived  by  his 
apparent  tranquillity,  were  unap- 
prised of  his  departure  until  he 
was  out  of  the  reach  of  their  pow- 
er. Their  active  hatred,  however, 
pursued  him  in  that  part  where  he 
was  still  tangible:  the  name  of 
Mons.  de  Rosanges  was  entered  on 
one  of  the  lists  of  proscribed  emi- 
grants, his  property  was  seized  and 
sold,  and  his  family  inhumanly 
deprived  of  all  means  of  support; 
his  debtors  were  compelled  to  give 
in  to  the  government  the  amount 
of  the  sums  due  from  them  to  M. 
de  Rosanges,  and  in  one  day  this 
unfortunate  man  was  deprived  of 
his  title  of  a  Frenchman  and  the 
inheritance  of  his  ancestors. 

Many  of  his  friends,  though  in- 
dignant at  such  an  act  of  flagrant 
injustice,  hastened  to  deliver  up 
to  the  government  the  money  they 
had  borrowed  from  Mons.  de  Ro- 
sanges ;  whilst  others,  still  more 
timorous,  dared  not  declare  them- 
selves the  creditors  of  the  state, 
which  had  confiscated  the  property 


I'UUSJAN  SKETCHES, 


9 


of  their  friend  to  its  own  use, 
though  they  reserved  in  their  own 
minds,  the  right  of  proving  their 
demands  against  him  in  more  au- 
spicious times.  What  was  then 
corruptly  termed  the  government, 
discovered,  by  what  means  I  am 
ignorant,  that  the  two  brothers 
Bidaut,  whom  they  had  turned  out 
of  the  farms  belonging  to  Mons. 
de  Ilosange,  were  largely  indebted 
to  him.  Orders  were  immediately 
given  to  arrest  Clement,  who  hap- 
pened at  the  time  to  be  at  Paris. 
Flattered,  questioned,  and  threat- 
ened by  turns,  the  unfortunate 
Clement,  who  obstinately  persisted 
in  denying  the  debt,  was  thrown 
into  one  of  the  thousand  prisons 
the  capital  had  the  happiness  of 
possessing  at  that  fatal  period.  He 
was  informed,  that  he  should  be 
released  the  moment  he  disclosed 
what  they  were  so  much  interested 
in  discovering  ;  but  disregarding 
alike  their  promises  and  their 
threats,  and  satisfied  with  having 
done  his  duty,  he  firmly  prepared 
to  meet  the  fate  which  seemed  im- 
pending over  him. 

James,  in  despair  at  receiving 
the  news  of  his  brother's  imprison- 
ment, tried  every  possible  way  to 
soften  the  hardship  of  his  situa- 
tion: every  assistance  his  means 
afforded  was  bestowed  on  his  bro- 
ther ;  but  not  for  the  world  would 
he  have  touched  the  deposit  con- 
fided to  his  charge.  Considering 
the  return  of  M.  de  Rosanges  to 
be  now  totally  hopeless,  he  had 
used  every  exertion  to  obtain  news 
of  him,  but  in  vain.  This  unfor- 
tunate gentleman,  far  from  fore- 
seeing the  fatal  consequences  of 
his  flight,  had  cherished  the  hope 
of  revisiting  France  at  farthest  in 

Vol  X.  No.  LF. 


the  ensuing  year:  he  had  provided 
resources  accordingly,  and  found 
himself  in  the  greatest  embarrass- 
ment when  he  learned  the  mea- 
sures his  enemies  had  pursued.  Not 
daring  to  write,  for  fear  of  com- 
promising the  safety  of  those  to 
whom  his  letters  should  be  address- 
ed, this  generous  motive  compel- 
led him  to  keep  his  friends  in  ig- 
norance of  the  place  of  his  resi- 
dence, and  of  his  urgent  necessi- 
ties. In  vain  did  James  attempt 
to  discover  whither  his  master  had 
fled,  all  his  inquiries  proved  fruit- 
less: M.  de  Rosanges  was  unfor- 
tunate, and  forgotten  by  all. 

The  obstinacy  of  Clement  tri- 
umphed over  his  persecutors;  un- 
able to  compel  him  to  betray  his 
trust,  the)'  restored  him  to  liberty; 
but  this  noble  fellow,  a  victim  to 
the  hardships  he  had  undergone, 
shortly  after  sealed  his  attachment 
to  his  master  by  a  premature  death. 
Worn  out  by  fatigue  and  privation, 
he  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  bro- 
ther, whom  he  adjured  with  his 
last  breath  to  keep  his  secret  faith- 
fully. 

This  recommendation  was  not 
needed.  James,  the  son  of  a  poor 
farmer  in  the  environs  of  Lagny, 
had  received  no  sort  of  education; 
but  nature  had  endowed  him  with 
strong  sense,  and  a  firm  and  honest 
mind:  to  be  virtuous  was  natural 
to  him  from  his  infancy;  it  had 
been  his  object  to  act  uprightly, 
and  it  had  never  entered  his 
thoughts  to  throw  off  the  obliga- 
tions of  religion  and  virtue.  Al- 
though, by  experience,  he  found 
that  the  discovery  of  M.  de  Ro- 
sanges grew  daily  more  and  more 
hopeless,  and  many  persons  would 
fain  have  persuaded  him,  that  his 
C 


10 


PAIUSIAN   SKSTCHIiS. 


master  must  have  sunk  under  his 
misfortunes,  James  was  not  once 
even  tempted  to  appropriate  to  his 
own  use  a  sum,  which  at  various 
times  would  have  spared  him  much 
sorrow,  and  raised  him  at  once  to 
ease  and  affluence. 

With  the  produce  of  his  indus- 
try, and  the  remainder  of  the  pro- 
perty he  inherited  from  his  father, 
James  had  bought  a  small  farm  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Roissy, 
where  he  resided  in  a  state  of  me- 
diocrity, to  which  his  economy 
gave  an  imposing  appearance  of 
affluence.  His  heart,  hitherto  a 
stranger  to  love,  soon  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  that  delightful  passion 
The  daughter  of  one  of  his  rich 
neighbours,  Rose  Delannoy,  in- 
spired him  with  an  attachment  as 
ardent  as  it  was  sincere;  nor  did 
she  long  remain  indifferent  to  the 
regard  she  had  excited.  The  two 
lovers  were  at  the  summit  of  feli- 
city, every  thing  seemed  propi- 
tious to  their  approaching  union, 
when  an  unfortunate  event  threat- 
ened to  destroy  their  happiness  for 
ever.  The  barns  of  Delanno)' 
caught  fire,  and  their  totai  de- 
struction reduced  him  to  the  verge 
of  poverty.  James  hastened  to 
assist  him,  but  his  means  were  too 
limited.  One  of  the  neiahbour- 
ing  farmers,  who  had  long  vainly 
sought  to  gain  the  affections  of 
Rose,  at  this  critical  moment  de- 
manded her  hand  of  her  father,  of- 
fering to  rebuild  at  his  own  ex- 
pense the  barns  which  had  been 
consumed,  and  to  lend  him  the  sum 
of  two  thousand  crowns  to  enable 
him  to  recover  his  losses.  In  the 
disastrous  situation  of  Delannoy 
such  an  offer  would  hardly  fail  of 
success  ;  he  could  not  help  men- 


tioning it  to  James,  and  letting 
him  perceive  the  little  repugnance 
he  felt  to  take  advantage  of  the 
friendly  inclinations  of  farmer 
Durand.  A  deep  sigh  was  the  on- 
ly reply  of  poor  James  :  with  less 
virtue  he  might  have  possessed  the 
object  of  his  attachment.  No  one 
was  aware  of  the  existence  of  the 
deposit  in  his  hands.  The  silence 
of  the  proprietor  might  almost  be 
said  to  authorize  him  to  dispose 
of  it.  This  idea,  which  would 
have  struck  the  mind  of  so  many 
others,  never  once  entered  his. 
He  sacrificed  to  his  duty,  not  with- 
out regret,  the  future  happiness  of 
his  life. 

Delannoy  at  length  concluded 
to  accept  the  proposals  of  Du- 
rand. The  wedding-day  was  fixed. 
All  the  village  shared  the  grief  of 
Rose,  whose  sorrow  knew  no 
bounds.  A  secret  presentiment 
drew  her  towards  the  dwelling  of 
James:  she  perceived  him, thought- 
ful and  melanchol}',  seated  on  a 
stone  bench  at  the  entrance  of  his 
garden.  She  approached.  He 
spoke.  She  listened:  his  secretes  - 
caped  him.  She  received  his  full 
confidence.  Penetrated  with  the 
warmest  admiration  for  the  man 
who  preferred  to  all  the  enjoyments 
of  life  the  obscure  hours  of  irre- 
proachable integrity,  she  flew  to 
throw  herself  at  the  feet  of  her 
father.  She  recounted  to  him, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  every  tiling 
she  had  just  learned.  She  exalted 
the  heroic  sacrifice  of  poor  James, 
and  declared  she  never  would  con- 
sent to  be  separated  from  him  to 
become  the  wife  of  another.  The 
vehemence  of  her  entreaties,  the 
fervour  of  her  simple  eloquence, 
that  persuasive   power  which   al- 


PAKISTAN    SKETCHf.* 


11 


ways  accompanied  truth,  sliook  the 
resolution  of*  Delannoy.  He  rais- 
ed his  (laughter — embraced  her — 
and  carried  away  by  his  naturally 
good  feelings,  and  the  nohle  ex- 
ample set  be  Co  re  him,  he  consented 
to  receive  James  for  his  son-in-law. 
Virtue  sooner  or  later  brings  its 
own  reward. 

The  probity  of  James  had  still 
to  undergo  fresh  trials.  Twice  the 
victim  of  the  misfortunes  attend- 
ant on  a  foreign  invasion,  he  saw 
his  dwelling  pillaged  and  burnt, 
his  harvest  destroyed,  his  fields  de- 
vastated, and  twice  abandoning 
his  own  property  to  the  mercy  of 
the  invader,  in  order  to  watch  over 
the  sacred  deposit  intrusted  to  him, 
he  preserved  only  that  in  which 
he  himself  was  uninterested. 

His  father-in-law,  who,  whilst 
praising  his  conduct,  could  scarce- 
ly refrain  from  blaming  him  for 
carrying  his  sense  of  probity  to 
such  excess,  was  desirous  of  ascer- 
taining how  far  property  unclaim- 
ed for  five  and  twenty  years  was 
tangible.  He  consulted  a  lawyer, 
who  never  was  in  the  habit  of  for- 
getting his  own  interest  in  busying 
himself  for  the  advantage  of  others. 
This  man  proved  to  him,  certainly 
more  from  example  than  by  argu- 
ment, that  a  deposit  unclaimed 
for  twenty- five  years  is  in  all  re- 
spects similar  to  any  thing  which 
has  been  lost,  and  in  like  manner 
belongs  to  the  person  who  has  it 
in  his  possession.  Proud  of  hav- 
ing obtained  such  an  opinion,  for 
which  he  paid  handsomely,  De- 
lannoy hastened  to  communicate 
it  to  his  son-in-law,  who  had  just 
made  a  discovery  of  a  totally  op- 
posite nature. 


Looking  over  seme  newspapers, 
!  James'sajtention  had  been  arrested 
j  by  the   name  of  Rosanges.     Full 
of  surprise  and  joy,  he  put  on  his 
•  '  best  clothes,  and  flew  to  the  address 
'■■  mentioned    in    the    paper.     After 
some  delay,  he  was  introduced  to 
the  master  of  the  house,  a  young 
|  man  scarcely  twenty-six   years  of 
!j  age.     James  thought  he  had  made 
i  some   mistake,  remembering    that 
j  his    old   master   left   no    children. 
j  "  That  is  true,"  said   the  young 
gentleman;  "  1   am  only  his  ne- 
i  phew." — "  And  how  is  your  wor- 
I  thy,    your     excellent     uncle?" — 
"   He   is    no    more."—"   Dead !" 
echoed  James  in  a  mournful  tone. 
— "  I  am  the  only  one  of  the  family 
now  remaining;  I  inherit  his  name 
and  title,  and  what  little  property 
some  fortunate  chance  has  left  un- 
touched."— "  God  be  praised,"  re- 
;  plied  James,  "  I  am  come  to   add 
something  to  that!" — "  You?" — 
"Yes:  vour  late  uncle  my  master 
left  the  sum  of  17,000  francs  in  my 
care,  for  which  i  am  now  come  to 
:  account  toyou." — "  What, twenty- 
six  years   ago?" — "I  assure   you 
it  is  exactly  as  he  left  it;  we  have 
i  never  touched  one  franc  of  it." — 
'•  Worthy  man.'!  exclaimed  de  Ro- 
sanges. stretching  out   one  hand, 
and  shaking  that  of  James,  while 
i  with  the  other  he  tried  to  hide  the 
tears   of  admiration    which   iuvo- 
:  luntarilv  fell  from  his  eves,  "  so 
!  noble  and   disinterested  an  action 
i  surprises  and  affects  me.     If  I  may 
judge  from  your  dress,  you  live  in 
,  the   country?" — "    Yes,   sir,  near 
j  lloissy." — "  You  must  have    met 
'(  with   man}'  losses,  and    with    this 

;  money "  —  "    Do    you    think 

|  then,  sir,  that  in  order  to  repair 
C    2 


\l 


PARISIAN    SKETCHES. 


my  own  losses,  I  would  go  and  rob 

another  person  ?" — "  But  yet " 

— "  I  do  not  see  any  difference  ; 
a  deposit  is  a  thing  that  does  not 
belong  to  us.  I  would  have  star- 
ved before  I  would  have  touched 
it.  My  dress  does  not  announce 
opulence,  but  it  covers  the  heart 
of  an  honest  man." 

Mons.  de  Rosanges  was  struck 
with  astonishment  and  admiration 
at  such  virtuous  principles.  He 
wrote  down  James's  address,  and 
promised  that  as  early  as  possible 
he  would  pay  him  a  visit.  The 
latter  took  his  leave,  and  returned 
home  dancing  for  joy.  "  What 
has  happened,"  inquired  his  fa- 
ther-in-law, "  that  you  seem  in 
such  spirits?" — "  I  have  found  out 
M.  de  Rosanges,"  replied  James; 
and  his  excellent  wife  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms. 

James  had  scarcely  quitted  the 
hotel  of  Mons.  de  Rosanges,  when 
that  gentleman's  lawyer  made  his 
appearance:  he  happened  to  be 
the  very  man  whom  Delannoy  had 
consulted.  M.  de  Rosanges  in- 
formed him  of  the  good  fortune 
which  had  just  befallen  him.  "  The 
devil,"  exclaimed  the  lawyer, 
"  17,000  francs  at  the  expiration 
of  twenty-six  years!  It  is  almost 
incredible,  but  we  live  in  an  age 
of  wonders."  Suddenly  he  stop- 
ped, knit  his  brows,  while  a  mali- 
cious smile  distorted  his  features, 
and  added  :  "  The  man  supposed 
that  of  course  you  had  vouchers." 
— "  I  have  not  one." — "  That  you 
knew  that  your  uncle  had  intrusted 
that  sum  to  him." — "  I  was  per- 
fectly ignorant  of  it  an  hour  ago." 
— "  Well,  however,  he  thought 
so,  I  have  no  doubt;  but  in  making 
this   restitution  be   has   forgotten 


one  thing."  —  *'  What  do  you 
mean?" — "  He  has  said  nothing 
about  the  interest,  and  twenty-six 
years' interest  doubles  the  capital." 
— "  Really !"— "  The  worthy  man 
has  turned  the  money  to  good  ac- 
count."— "  He  has  assured  me  to 
the  contrary." — "  And  you  believe 
him?" — "  His  action  is  a  proof 
" — "  Yes,  of  cunning.  At- 
tend to  me:  you  are  a  young  man, 
and  understand  very  little  of  busi- 
ness.    All  money  lent   ought  to 

bear  interest;  now  this  money " 

— "  Was  a  deposit." — "  We  shall 
see  how  that  is  b}^  and  by,  with 
your  leave.  Commence  an  action 
against  him;  then  he  will  have  a 
conference;  let  him  have  plenty 
of  time:  you  do  not  surely  ima- 
gine I  wish  to  ruin  him;  but  your 
affairs  interest  me  as  my  own,  and 
one  day  or  other  you  will  thank 
me  for  the  care  I  take  of  them." 
Saying  this,  the  attorney  took  his 
leave. 

Two  days  afterwards  M.  de  Ro- 
sanges paid  his  promised  visit  to 
James.  On  entering  his  cottage, 
he  beheld  the  whole  family  in  the 
deepest  distress.  What  was  his 
surprise  and  anger  at  perusing  a 
letter  from  his  lawyer,  stating  that 
M.  de  Rosanges  had  authorized 
him  to  demand  the  interest  due  on 
the  sum  of  17,000  francs  for  twen- 
ty-six years,  and  threatening  them 
with  the  utmost  rigour  of  the  law 
in  case  of  a  refusal.  His  indig- 
nation redoubled  when  he  learned 
from  old  Delannoy,  that  this  was 
the  very  man  who  had  advised  him 
to  withhold  the  property.  He 
hastened  to  reassure' the  worthy 
James;  he  would  not  humiliate  him 
by  offering  him  money  as  a  reward, 
but  promising  to  him  his  friend- 


MI.MOIIIS    OF    MYSKLF. 


IS 


ship,  and  to  his  children  his  pro- 
tection, he  requested  him  to  be- 
come his  steward.  That  same 
day,  the  lawyer  received  orders 
not  to  concern  himself  in  future 


about  the  affairs  of  M.    de   Ro- 
sanges. 

Excepting  this  last  circumstance, 
I  can  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the 
foreiioincr  anecdote. 


MEMOIRS  OF  MYSELF 


It  is  half-past  three  in  the  morn- 
ing;  I   have  paced  my  bed-cham- 
ber till  I  am  tired,  looked  with  en- 
vy at  my  wife,  who  has  been  fast 
asleep  these  three  hours,  and  whose 
countenance  wears,    even    in    re- 
pose, the  sweet  expression  of  hap- 
piness which  it  bore  as  she  invoked 
Heaven  to  bless  our    children  as 
she  put  up  her  nightly  petition.    I 
have  tried  to  persuade  myself,  from 
her  example,  that  the  fulness  of 
content  ought  to  lead   to  repose, 
but  all  in  vain:  I  find  it  impossi- 
ble to  sleep,  and  I  cannot  remain 
inactive.     "  How  then  shall  I  be- 
guile the  timer"  said  I,  five   mi- 
nutes ago,  to  myself:  "  suppose  I 
write  my  Memoirs,  and  send  them 
to  the  Repository?"  Just  as  I  was 
taking  up  the  pen,  Mr.  Editor,  I 
thought  of  all  you  could  say  if  you 
were  at   my    elbow.     You    would 
gravely  declare  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  write  in   such   a  frame  of 
mind;  that  one  ought  to  have  calm 
spirits,  a  clear  head,  a  facility  of 
expressing   oneself,  &c.    &c.    &c. 
before  we  begin  to  write ;  at  least, 
if  we  mean  that  our  works  should 
be  read  by  any  body  but  ourselves. 
N'importe,   my   good    sir,    I    shall 
take  my  chance  for  that:  it  is  the 
age  of  memoirs;  everybody  writes 
them,  every  body  reads  them,  and 
why  the  deuce  should  not  mine  be 
read  among  the  rest?    Besides,  I 
am  not  without  a   hope  that   \  ou 


will  good-naturedly  take  the  trou- 
ble to  polish  them  up   a  little:  so 
without  farther  ceremony  I  begin. 
I    was    the   only  son   of  one  of 
the  richest  commoners  in  England, 
who   died  while  I  was  an   infant, 
leaving  me  under  the   guardian-'' 
ship  of  my  mother.     She  declared 
to  him  in   his  last  moments,  that 
my  happiness  should  be  the  study 
of  her   life;   and    as    an   effectual 
means  to    secure   it,    she    strictly 
prohibited  every  thing  in  the  form 
of  correction,  or  even  admonition. 
She  was  a  woman  of  an  excellent 
heart,  but  she  had  bewildered  her- 
self with  the  theories  of  our  mo- 
dern philosophers  ;  and  she  grave- 
ly argued    from    them,    that    no 
created  being  has  a  right  to  arro- 
gate to  himself  or  herself  any  au- 
thority over  another;  that  human 
nature  is  in    itself  perfect ;    and 
that  it  is  the  most  cruel  tyranny  to 
force  upon  the  infant  mind,  prin- 
ciples, habits,   or  opinions,  which 
may  not  accord  with   its  peculiar 
bias.      In     conformity,    sir,    with 
these  liberal  ideas,  I  was  suffered 
to  be  as  free  as  air :  but  my  mother 
had  no  great   reason  to  contjratu- 
late    herself  upon  the   success  of 
her  plan  ;  for,  instead  of  being  per- 
fectly happy  and  reasonable,  I  be- 
came  the  most   troublesome,  dis- 
agreeable brat    in    the  world:   no 
pecuniary    advantages    could    in- 
duce my  nursery  maids  to  stay  with 


u 


MEMOIRS    OF    MYSELF. 


me,  and  as  to  nursery-governesses, 
I  believe  I  had  half  a  dozen  in  a 
twelvemonth. 

When  I  was  five  years  old  I  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  a  tutor: 
he  was  a  good  and  conscientious 
man,  who  would  have  done  his 
duty  had  he  been  suffered  to  do  it; 
as  it  was,  he  told  my  mother  that 
he  could  be  of  no  use  to  me,  and 
that  he  must  go.  I  had,  however, 
taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  I  insist- 
ed that  lie  should  stay;  but  he  per- 
emptorily refused,  unless  I  would 
attend  to  my  book.  I  remember, 
even  to  this  moment,  the  astonish- 
ment with  which  I  heard  this  de- 
claration ;  it  was  the  first  time  any 
body  had  ever  presumed  to  put 
their  will  in  competition  with  mine, 
and  it  seemed  such  a  surprising 
thing,  that  I  could  hardly  believe 
he  was  in  earnest.  However,  the 
more  intent  he  seemed  on  going, 
the  more  desirous  I  was  that  he 
should  stay  ;  so  at  last  we  patched 
up  a  treaty,  which  was  very  ill 
kept  on  my  part,  and  he  agreed  to 
remain. 

I  believe  I  was  rather  more  than 
seven  years  old,  when  one  day, 
in  the  temporary  absence  of  my 
tutor,  I  accompanied  Jenny,  my 
nurse-maid,  to  a  cottage  at  a  little 
distance  from  our  mansion.  The 
owner  of  the  cottage  had  formerly 
been  a  fellow-servant  of  Jenny's, 
i-\nd  was  recently  come  to  settle  in 
our  neighbourhood.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  the  girl  had  been 
to  sec  her  friend,  and  she  was  de- 
sirous of  looking  at  the  garden.  I 
refused  to  accompany  her,  because 
I  preferred  playing  with  the  cotta- 
ger's son,  a  little  boy  about  my 
own  age.  The  boy's  mother,  after 
giving  himmany  charges  to  be  sure 


and  take  pains  to  entertain  me, 
marched  off  with  Jenny,  leaving 
us  together. 

Henry  rummaged  out  his  scanty 
stock  of  toys  for  my  amusement, 
but  without  effect;  at  last  my  eye 
was  caught  by  a  little  book  with 
coloured  prints,  which  I  began  to 
turn  over  very  roughly.  "  You 
must  not  do  so,"  said  Henry  ; 
"  cousin  Betty  gave  me  that  book, 
and  I  promised  her  I  would  take 
care  it  should  not  be  torn." — 
"  Don't  talk  to  me,"  cried  I, 
"  about  your  cousin  Betty;  I  shall 
tear  it,  or  do  what  I  like  with  it :  I 
am  rich  enough  to  pa}'  for  a  hun- 
dred such  books  as  this ;"  and  I  kept 
turning  theleaves  overmorerough- 
ly  than  before.  Henry  snatched 
it  up,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Bribery  and  threats  were  vain, 
cousin  Betty's  book  was  not  to  be 
sold,  and  my  threat  of  giving  him 
a  good  beating,  was  answered  by 
an  assurance,  that  I  had  better  take 
care  of  myself,  for  he  was  more 
than  my  match. 

My  reply  to  this  speech  was  a 
violent  blow  on  the  face,  which  my 
antagonist  returned  with  interest. 
I  soon  found  he  was  no  boaster, 
for  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  com- 
pletely and  soundly  beaten.  I  dis- 
dained, however,  to  acknowledge 
myself  conquered,  though  I  was 
more  than  once  knocked  down  : 
but  my  adversary  was  too  gene- 
rous to  require  my  submission  ;  he 
desisted,  and  ran  to  get  some  wa- 
ter to  wash  the  blood  from  my  face. 
At  that  moment  Jenny  and  his 
mother  entered.  You  may  con- 
ceive the  scene  that  followed  ;  both 
fell  upon  Henry,  and  but  for  my 
interference,  his  mother  would 
have  given  him  a  sounder  beating 


MEMOIRS    OF    MYiELF. 


15 


than  I  had  been  able  to  do.  Jen- 
ny washed  me,  and  took  me  home, 
declaring  all  the  way,  that  she- 
knew  she  should  lose  her  place  by 
this  unlucky  job. 

This  was  the  first  lesson  I  ever 
received  of  respect  for  the  right  of 
property,  and  without  a  pun,  it 
made  a  strong  impression  upon 
me.  Jenny  escaped  with  a  repri- 
mand, through  my  vehement  de- 
clarations that  she  should  not  be 
turned  away,  for  she  was  not  to 
blame.  But  to  her  great  surprise, 
I  insisted  upon  going  in  two  days 
after  to  see  Henry  :  mj-  mother 
would  have  mustered  up  courage 
to  contradict  me  for  once,  but  at 
the  request  of  my  tutor,  who  knew 
what  had  happened,  she  permitted 
me  to  go.  Henrv  received  me  with 
great  kindness  ;  he  had  just  finish- 
ed making  a  boat,  and  though  I 
had  several  of  my  own,  1  fancied 
none  of  thern  equalled  his.  I 
praised  it  very  much.  "  You  may- 
have  it,  if  you  l\ke  it,"  cried  he 
bluntly,  "  and  I  will  shew  you  how 
to  make  a  better  one  than  this." 
This  generosity  quite  won  my 
heart:  I  invited  him  to  the  ball, 
secretly  determining  that  he  should 
not  return  empty  handed.  To  my 
surprise,  however,  he  was  not  at 
all  struck  with  my  fine  toys;  but 
he  was  very  much  delighted  with 
some  of  my  little  books,  which  I 
prevailed  upon  him  to  keep,  and 
he  assured  me  he  would  be  as  care- 
ful of  them  as  of  cousin  Be^'s 

In  a  little  time,  I  became  so 
muchattached  to  this  boy,  although 
he  never  flattered  me,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  told  me  of  my  faults  in 
his  blunt  rustic  manner,  that  1  in- 
sisted upon  his  coming. to  live  with 
us.     My  tutor  seconded  this  mo- 


tion warmly,  because  he  foresaw 
many  advantages  to  me  in  such  a 
companion,  and  my  mother  cheer- 
fully gave  her  consent. 

1  certainly  profited  by  the  so- 
ciety of  Henry,  but  not  as  much  as 
I  ought  to  have  done.  I  am  asham- 
ed to  say,  that  though  I  loved  him, 
I  often  capriciously  ill-treated  him: 
I  made,  however,  a  sort  of  com- 
promise with  my  conscience,  by 
never  suffering  the  smallest  slight 
to  he  offered  to  him  by  any  body 
but  myself.  In  acquiring  polished 
manners,  he  lost  nothing  of  his  na- 
tive sincerity;  he  blamed  me  free- 
ly when  I  was  wrong,  which  Hea- 
ven knows  was  often  enough,  but 
he  had  always  something  to  say  to 
others  in  extenuation  of  my  faults. 

Thus  time  stole  on  till  we  had 
each  nearly  attained  our  eighteenth 
year,  when  I  began  to  think  of 
making  the  grand  tour.  I  had  no 
doubt  that  Henry  would  accom- 
pany me,  but,  to  my  great  surprise, 
he  refused.  "  My  dear  Augustus," 
cried  he,  "  it  is  time  fur  me  to 
think  of  doing  something  for  my- 
self: it  would  be  a  shame  if,  with 
the  education  which  I  owe  to  your 
generosity,  I  could  not  earn  inde- 
pendent bread.  Besides,  I  have 
another  motive  for  refusing  you  : 
if  I  accompany  you  abroad,  I 
should  watch  your  conduct  with 
perhaps  too  scrupulous  an  eye; 
the  equality  that  has  hitherto  sub- 
sisted between  us,  would  render 
me  troublesome  and  importunate; 
I  could  be  of  no  service  to  you, 
but  I  might,  and  probably  would, 
soon  lose  your  friendship."  I  ex- 
claimed against  this  mode  of  ar- 
guing ;  but  Mr.  Aiwyn,  who  con- 
sidered it  perfectly  just,  supported 
Henry's    resolution;     amJ,  Eg    my 


16 


MEMOIRS    OF    MYSELF. 


great  mortification,  he  entered  a 
commercial  house  of  the  greatest 
respectability.  My  mother  was  al- 
most as  sorry  as  myself  that  he  did 
notaccompany  me  abroad.  I  should 
have  mentioned,  that  he  lost  his 
parents  about  two  years  after  he 
took  up  his  residence  with  us;  and 
that  circumstance,  by  throwing 
him  entirely  upon  her  protection, 
contributed  to  endear  him  to  her. 

The  arrangements  for  my  Con- 
tinental tour  were  soon  completed, 
and  Henry  and  I  quitted  what 
might  be  called  the  paternal  roof 
to  both  of  us:  at  the  same  time 
Mr.  Alwyn  declined  accompany- 
ing me  abroad,  but  his  place  was 
filled  by  a  gentleman  so  highly  re- 
commended, that  my  mother  was 
quite  satisfied;  and  I  was  equallv 
so,  when  I  found  it  was  a  part  of 
his  plan,  that  we  were  neither  of 
us  to  be  a  restraint  on  the  other. 
I  shall  give  no  particulars  of  my 
tour;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  nearly 
three  years  spent  in  the  unlimited 
indulgence  of  every  vicious  and 
foolish  inclination,  completely  un- 
did all  that  the  respectable  Mr. 
Alwyn  had  done  towards  render- 
ing me  a  rational  being. 

The  sudden  and  violent  illness 
of  my  mother  recalled  me  to 
England  a  few  months  before  I  ! 
should  otherwise  have  returned. 
I  arrived  only  to  receive  her  last 
sigh;  and  when  the  grief,  which  I 
really  felt,  for  her  death  had  sub- 
sided, I  plunged  into  dissipation 
with  as  much  avidity  as  ever.  Hen-  ] 
ry  and  I  had  corresponded  regu- 
larly for  some  time  after  I  went 
abroad,  butin  about  ayear an  advan- 
tageous opportunity  occurred  for 
him  to  go  out  to  India,  and  from 
that  time  I  heard  no  more  of  him. 


In  a  few  years  the  career  I  pur-. 

sued  sensibly  impaired  my  fortune 
large  as  it  was;  but  this  circum- 
stance gave  me  no  concern,  for  I 
j  had  added  gaming  to  my  other  fol- 
j  lies;   and   as  in    the  beginning  I 
was  tolerably  successful,  I  had  no 
;  doubt,    that    a  few  lucky   throws 
would  reinstate  me  in  my  former 
I  situation. 

At  that  time  chance  threw  in  my 
way  a  very  beautiful  girl,  the  or- 
phan of  an  officer,  who  had  left 
her  under  the  guardianship  of  his 
sister,  a  gay  dissipated  woman  of 
fashion,  who  was  certainly  very 
unfit  for  the  trust.  I  was  struck  at 
the  first  sight  with  the  charms  of 
this  lovely  girl,  but  her  dignified, 
though  simple  and  unassuming 
manners,  for  some  time  prevented 
my  declaring  my  flame.  At  times, 
however,  I  thought  I  could  read  in 
her  soft  eyes  that  I  was  not  an  ob- 
ject of  indifference  to  her,  and  I 
solicited  her  hand;  but  I  had  the 
mortification  to  meet  with  a  polite 
but  decided  refusal.  I  learned 
through  her  aunt,  that  her  objec- 
tions arose  from  my  free  course  of 
life;  and  I  vowed,  at  the  moment 
|  with  sinceritjr,  that  I  would  reform. 
;  Sophia  heard  me  with  blushes  of 
;  pleasure,  and  agreed  to  become 
I  mine,  conditionally,  that  she  had 
reason  to  think  at  the  end  of  twelve 
months  I  had  kept  my  promise. 

For  a  short  time  all  went  well, 
but  the  cursed  habit  which  I  had 
acquired  of  gaming  was  too  strong 
for  all  my  good  resolutions;  I  re- 
lapsed into  it:  this  circumstance 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  Sophia, 
and  she  wrote  me  a  farewell.  No 
arguments  of  her  aunt,  no  entrea- 
ties of  mine,  could  prevail  upon 
her  to  rescind  her  resolution  never 


MKMOIKS    OF   MYSKI.f. 


17 


to  be  mine.  Driven  to  despair  by 
this  resolution,  I  madly  sought  to 
drown  her  remembrance  in  riot  and 
excess.  I  plunged  openly  and 
without  restraint  into  gaming;  loss 
succeeded  to  loss;  my  property 
was  not  entailed,  and  in  a  few 
months  I  was  a  beggar.     -pjie  su]_ 

len  indifference  with  which  I  had 
contemplated  the  spectre  Poverty 
vanished  when  I  found  myself 
within  her  grasp,  and  I  awoke, 
when  too  late,  to  a  full  sense  of  the 
horrors  of  my  situation.  I  was 
obliged  to  fly  from  London,  in  or- 
der to  escape  from  my  creditors. 
My  watch,  and  a  few  trinkets  of  but 
little  value,  were  all  that  remained 
of  my  once  splendid  property;  and 
the  small  sum  which  they  might 
bring,  and  which,  with  my  habits, 
would  scarcely  be  sufficient  for  a 
few  weeks'  subsistence,  was  all  I 
had  to  trust  to  for  support. 

As  I  was  coming  out  of  a  shop 
where  I  had  disposed  of  these  va- 
luables, I  saw  a  stasre-coach  jroinsr 

to  set  out  for  the  seaport  of  : 

at  that  moment  the  only  thing  that 
struck  me,  was  the  necessity  of 
quitting  London,  and  I  threw  my- 
self into  it,  thinking  that  before  I 
reached  the  end  of  my  journey,  1 
could  arrange  my  future  plans. 

Fatigue  and  want  of  sleep  com- 
bined, had  rendered  me  so  ill,  that 
I  was  incapable  of  thinking:  it 
was  late  in  the  evening  when  we 
reached  our  journey's  end,  and 
after  bespeaking  a  bed,  I  strolled 
out  to  try  if  the  air  would  relieve 
the  burning  pain  in  my  head.  Till 
that  unhappy  moment,  I  had  pre- 
served, in  the  midst  of  my  follies 
and  my  crimes,  some  sense  of  re- 
ligion; but  as  I  hurried  on,  vainly 
endeavouring  to  trace  a  plan  for 
Vol.  X.  No.  hV. 


the  future,  despair  took  entire  pos- 
session  of  me.     "  There  is  not," 
thought  I,  "  any  means  of  exist- 
ence open  for  me;  and  why  should 
I  endeavour  to  protract  for  a  little 
while   a    miserable    being,    which 
must  at  last  be  terminated  by  ac- 
tual want?  No  ;  let  me  perish,  ra- 
ther than  continue  to  endure  the 
abject  miserable  existence,  which, 
if  I  live,  must  be  my  lot."     While 
my  mind  was  occupied  with  these 
thoughts,  I  had  reached  the  quay; 
;  the  sight  of  the  water  decided  my 
;  purpose,  and  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,    I     plunged    into     the 
waves.     Heaven,  more  gracious  to 
me   than    I   deserved,  deigned   to 
avert  the  fate  I  had  so  impiously 
courted :  a  gentleman  who  chanced 
to  be  passing  at  the  instant,  plung- 
ed   in   after   me,    and    succeeded, 
though  at  the  imminent  hazard  of 
his  own  life,  in  saving  mine.    Con- 
ceive— but  no,  it  is  impossible  for 
any  one  to  conceive — what  were 
my  feelings  when,  on  recovering 
my  senses,  and  raising  my  eyes  to 
the  face  of  a  gentleman  who  stood 
over  me,  I    beheld  the  dear   and 
well-remembered  features  of  Hen- 
ry.    Yes,  it  was  to  him  I  owed  my 
life ;  he  had  been  but  a  few  hours 
landed   from   India,  when    Provi- 
dence sent  him  to  my  rescue. 

I  shall  not  detail  the  scene  that 
followed;  those  v\ho  have  hearts 
can  feel  better  than  I  can  describe, 
the  delight  of  Henry  when  he 
found  who  it  was  that  he  had  res- 
cued from  a  watery  grave.  He 
was  returned,  rich  and  happy,  to 
his  native  land:  a  gentleman  who 
became  acquainted  with  him  in 
India,  had  bequeathed  him  a  hand- 
some fortune;  and  he  resolved  to 
return  to  England,  and  devote  the 
D 


18 


MI: MO l IIS   OF   MYSELF. 


rest  of  liislife  to  literary  and  agri- 
cultural pursuits. 

When  I  was  able  to  converse,  I 
told  him  all.  I  knew  he  would  feel 
for  me,  hut  I  expected  also  he 
would  blame  me  severely.  I  was, 
however,  mistaken  ;  he  uttered  not 
a  word  of  reproach.  "  Every 
thing,"  cried  he,  embracing  me, 
"  may  yet  be  retrieved  :  you  are 
young  enough  to  make  choice  of 
a  profession  ;  you  have  abilities  to 
render  you  an  ornament  to  any 
that  you  may  choose.  Come  back 
with  me  to  London;  we  will  arrange 
every  thing." 

I  complied,  without  thanks  or 
professions,  for  I  knew  the  heart 
of  Henry  too  well  to  believe  that 
either  were  necessary.  My  gene- 
rous friend  settled  with  my  credi- 
tors: the  next  thing  to  be  done 
\v;:s.  to  choose  a  profession;  I  wished 
to  become  a  merchant.  Henry 
heard  me  with  pleasure,  but  he  in- 
sisted upon  my  reflecting  before  I 
fixed  my  choice.  While  I  was  de- 
liberating about  it,  he  came  in  one 
day  with  a  countenance  so  full  of 
animation  and  pleasure,  that  1  saw 
directly  some  unexpected  piece  of 
good  fortune  had  befallen  him,  and 
1  inquired  what  it  was. 

"  I  have  discovered  a  treasure, 
my  dear  friend,"  cried  he,  "  if  I 
can  but  make  it  mine.  My  late 
benefactor  divided  his  fortune  be- 
tween myself  and  a  young  lady,  a 
distant  relation  of  his,  whom  he 
described  to  me  as  having  afford- 
ed, when  a  child,  the  fairest  pro- 
mise of  excellence.  He  more  than 
once  hinted  a  wish  that  we  might 
be  united,  and  now  that  I  have 
seen  the  lady,  this  wish  is  mine 
also." — "  And  pray,"  said  I  laugh- 
ing, "  who  is  this  peerless  Dulci- 
nea,  whose   charms  have  subdued 


your  hitherto  insensible  heart?" — 
"  It  is  Miss  Glanville;  and  when 
you  see  her,  you  will  allow  that 
she  is  peerless  indeed." 

Alas!  I  was  but  too  well  con- 
vinced of  it;  for  Miss  Glanville 
was  Sophia,  my  Sophia.  I  recol- 
lected at  that  moment,  that,  in 
speaking  of  her,  I  had  never  men- 
tioned her  name:  I  was  about  to 
reveal  it,  but  I  checked  myself. 
Why,  thought  I,  should  I  blight  his 
probable  happiness  ?  She  is  lost  to 
me  for  ever.  The  next  day  I  told 
my  friend,  that  I  was  determined 
to  make  commerce  my  profession  ; 
and  I  set  out  in  a  few  days  for 
Germany,  with  letters,  which  he 
gave  me  to  a  mercantile  house 
there. 

When  I  bade  Henry  farewell,  I 
felt  as  if  it  were  a  last  one,  for  I 
knew  that  I  could  never  bear  to 
meet  him  as  the  husband  of  Sophia. 
More  than  once  I  was  tempted  to 
reveal  the  truth  to  him,  but  pride, 
honour,  and  friendship  equally 
combined  to  prevent  it.  We  cor- 
responded constantly  during  some 
months;  his  letters  were  filled  with 
praises  of  Sophia,  but  though  he 
saw  her  frequently,  he  feared  to 
reveal  his  passion  till  he  had  made 
some  interest  in  her  heart.  How 
shall  I  paint  my  feelings  when  I 
read  his  letters,  the  mingled  terror 
and  anxiety  with  which  I  waited 
for  the  fatal  one  that  was  to  an- 
nounce that  he  had  at  length  suc- 
ceeded, and  was  become  her  ac- 
cepted lover !  A  few  days  more 
:  than  usual  elapsed  without  my 
hearing  from  him,  and  I  was  tor- 
meriting  myself  by  placing  his  si- 
lence to  the  account  of  his  success 
with  Sophia,  when  one  evening  he 
himself  appeared. 

"  I  am  come,"  cried  he,  after 


MJ-MOIHS    OF    MYSliLF. 


19 


we  had  shaken  hands,  "  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  have  not  lost  my 
old  habit  of  Finding  fault  with  you. 
You  have,  from  a  piece  of  non- 
sensical refinement  and  false  pride, 
been  very  near  making  three  peo- 
ple miserable."—"  How  so?"— 
"  By  concealing  from  me  that  my 
paragon  was  your  mistress." 

"  But  to  what  purpose  should  I 
reveal  it?" 

"  To  a  very  good  purpose,  that 
of  gaining  her  hand  yourself." 

"  Myself!  What,  in  my  destitute 
situation  ?" — "  A  man  is  never  de- 
stitute when  he  has  industry  and 
abilities:  this  is  Sophia's  opinion 
as  well  as  mine;  and  the  proof  of 
it  is,  that  I  am  come  to  offer  you 
her  hand." 

At  these  words  I  could  hardly 
believe  my  senses,  but  Henry  soon 
convinced  me  that  he  was  in  ear- 
nest. He  concealed  from  me  the 
part  he  had  taken  in  the  promotion 
of  my  happiness,  but  my  first  in- 
terview with  Sophia  revealed  to 
me  all  that  I  owed  to  his  generous 
friendship.  She  had  seen  for  some 
time  that  he  loved  her,  and  fully 
sensible  of  his  worth,  she  strove  to 
banish  from  her  heart  those  senti- 
ments, which,  spite  of  my  follies, 
she  still  entertained  in  my  favour. 
When  he  at  last  declared  his  pas- 
sion, she  frankly  told  him  the  state 
of  her  affections:  she  owned  that 
her  heart  was  not  entirely  weaned 
from  one  whose  un worthiness  left 
her  no  excuse  for  loving  him  ;  but 
she  had  done  much  towards  con- 
quering her  partiality,  and  she 
hoped,  in  a  little  time,  to  subdue 
it  entirely.  Some  allusions  which 
she  made  to  my  fondness  for  gam- 
ing, roused  Henry's  suspicions:  he 
uttered  my  name;  her  countenance 


told  him  I  was  the  unworthy  re- 
jected lover;  and  forgetful  of  him- 
self and  his  own  happiness,  he 
sought  only  to  justify  me.  He 
painted  with  all  the  glowing  warmth 
of  friendship,  the  injury  which  ex- 
cessive indulgence  had  done  to  mv 
natural  disposition;  he  pourtray;  d 
in  the  liveliest  colours  the  good 
qualities  for  which  his  partiality- 
gave  me  credit;  he  dwelt  on  the 
steadiness  and  attention  with  which, 
since  my  ruin,  I  had  applied  to 
business.  In  short,  he  pleaded  so 
energetically,  that  he  wrung  from 
the  blushing  Sophia  a  tacit  con- 
sent to  my  happiness.  Ah !  this 
happiness  would  have  been  indeed 
too  exquisite,  but  for  the  thought 
that  it  was  purchased  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  repose. 

I  wished  to  delay  my  marriage, 
in  order  to  give  him  time  to  con- 
quer his  passion,  but  he  would  not 
hear  of  it.  *'  It  is  only  when  So- 
phia becomes  your  wife,"  said  he, 
"  that  I  can  resolve  to  think  of  her 
no  more."  Our  nuptials  were  ce- 
lebrated. I  embarked  a  part  of  my 
property  in  trade;  I  was  successful 
beyond  my  hopes.  Three  years 
after  my  marriage,  I  had  the  hap- 
piness to  see  my  friend  united  to  a 
woman  worthy  of  him,  a  counter- 
part of  my  own  Sophia.  Heaven 
had  blessed  me  in  the  first  year  of 
my  marriage  with  a  son,  and  when 
my  boy  was  nearly  five  years  old, 
Henry  became  the  father  of  a  girl. 
They  were  the  only  children  we 
either  of  us  ever  had,  and  from 
the  moment  of  his  daughter's  birth, 
Henry  and  myself  cherished  the 
hope  of  one  day  cementing  our 
friendship  by  their  union.  That 
hope  is  accomplished,  for  they  were 
this  morning  married.  And  now, 
D  2 


20 


THE  ART    OF    BOOK-MAKING. 


Mr.  Editor,  do  you  wonder  that  I  i 
find  it  impossible  to  close  my  eyes  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  you  reply, "  Really, 
sir,  though  you  cannot  sleep  your- 
self, you  possess  the  power  of  ren- 
dering the  drowsy  god  propitious 
to  others;  for  I  have  more  than 
once  shut  my  eyes  over  your  long 


story."     I  plead  guilty,  my  good 

sir:  but  consider,  that  every  thing 

has  its  use,  and  give  the  readers  of 

the   Repository   the    chance   of    a 

nap  by  inserting  my  Memoirs ;  you 

will  thus  serve  them,  and  oblige 

your  very  humble  servant, 

*  *  *  *  * 


THE  ART  OF  BOOK-MAKING. 


I  have  often  wondered  at  the  ex- 
treme fecundity  of  the  press,  and 
how  it  comes  to  pass  that  so  many 
heads,on  which  nature  seems'to  have 
inflicted  the  curse  of  barrenness, 
yet  teem  with  voluminous  pro- 
ductions. As  a  man  travels  on, 
however,  in  the  journey  of  life,  his 
objects  of  wonder  daily  diminish, 
and  he  is  continually  finding  out 
some  very  simple  cause  for  some 
great  matter  of  marvel.  Thus  have 
1  chanced,  in  my  peregrinations 
about  this  great  metropolis,  to 
blunder  upon  a  scene  which  unfold- 
ed to  me  some  of  the  nvysteries  of 
the  book-making  craft,  and  at  once 
put  an  end  to  my  astonishment. 

I  was  one  summer's  da}'  loitering 
through  the  great  saloons  of  the 
British  Museum,  with  that  list- 
lessness  with  which  one  is  apt  to 
souuter  about  a  museum  in  warm 
weather;  sometimes  lolling  over 
the  glass  cases  of  minerals,  some- 
times studying  the  hieroglyphics 
on  an  Egyptian  mummy,  and  some- 
times trying,  with  nearly  equal  suc- 
cess, to  comprehend  the  allegori- 
cal paintings  on  the  lofty  ceilings. 
Whilst  I  was  gazing  about  in  this 
idle  way,  my  attention  was  attracted 
to  a  distant  door  at  the  end  of  a 
suite  of  apartments.    It  was  closed, 


but  every  now  and  then  it  would 
open,  and  some  strange  favoured 
being,  generally  clothed  in  black, 
would  steal  forth,  and  glide  through 
the  rooms,  without  noticing  any 
of  the  surrounding  objects.  There 
was  an  air  of  mystery  about  this 
that  piqued  my  languid  curiosity, 
and  I  determined  to  attempt  the 
passage  of  that  strait,  and  to  ex- 
plore the  unknown  regions  that  lay 
beyond.  The  door  yielded  to  my 
hand,  with  all  that  facility  with 
which  the  portals  of  enchanted 
castles  yield  to  the  adventurous 
knight  errant.  I  found  myself  in 
a  spacious  chamber,  surrounded 
with  great  cases  of  venerable  books. 
Above  the  cases,  and  just  under  the 
cornice,  were  arranged  a  great 
number  of  quaint  black-looking 
portraits  of  ancient  authors.  About 
the  room  were  placed  long  tables, 
with  stands  for  reading  and  writ- 
ing, at  which  sat  many  pale,  cada- 
verous personages,  poring  intently 
over  dusty  volumes,  rummaging 
among  mouldy  manuscripts,  and 
taking  copious  notes  of  their  con- 
tents. The  most  hushed  stillness 
reigned  through  this  mysterious 
apartment,  excepting  that  you 
might  hear  the  racing  of  pens 
over  sheets  of  paper,  or,  occasion- 


THK    ART    OF     B()OK-MAKlN(J. 


21 


ally,  the  deep  sigh  of  one  of  these  I 
sages,  as  he  shitted  his  position  to 
turn  over  the  pages  of  an  old  folio; 
doubtless  arising  from  thathollow- 
ness  and  flatulency  incident  to 
learned  research. 

Now  and  then  one  of  these  per- 
sonages would  write  something  on 
a  small  slip  of  paper,  and  ring  a 
bell ;  whereupon  a  familiar  would 
appear,  take  the  paper  in  profound 
silence,  glide  out  of  the  room,  and 
return  shortly  loaded  with  ponde- 
rous tomes,  upon  which  the  other 
would  fall  tooth  and  nail  with  fa- 
mished voracity.  I  had  no  longer 
a  doubt  that  1  had  happened  upon 
a  body  of  magi,  deeply  engaged  in 
the  study  of  occult  sciences.  The 
scene  reminded  me  of  an  old  Ara- 
bian tale  of  a  philosopher,  shut  up 
in  an  enchanted  library,  in  the  bo- 
som of  a  mountain,  that  opened 
only  once  a  year;  where  he  made 
the  spirits  of  the  place  obey  his 
commands,  and  bring  him  books 
of  all  kinds  of  dark  knowledge;  so 
that  at  the  end  of  the  year,  when 
the  magic  portal  once  more  swung 
open  on  its  hinges,  he  issued  forth 
so  versed  in  forbidden  lore,  as  to 
be  able  to  soar  above  the  heads  of 
the  multitude,  and  to  controul  the 
powers  of  nature. 

My  curiosity  being  now  fully 
aroused,  I  whispered  to  one  of  the 
familiars,  as  he  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  and  begged  an  interpre- 
tation of  the  strange  scene  before 
me.  A  few  words  were  sufficient 
for  the  purpose.  I  found  that 
these  mysterious  personages,  whom 
I  had  mistaken  for  magi,  were 
principally  authors,  and  were  in 
the  very  act  of  manufacturing- 
books.  I  was,  in  fact,  in  the  read- 
ing-room of  the  great  British   Li- 


brary— an  immense  collection  of 
volumes  of  all  ages  and  languages, 
many  of  which  are  now  forgotten, 
and  most  of  which  are  seldom  read. 
To  these  sequestered  pools  of  ob- 
solete literature,  therefore,  do  many 
modern  authors  repair,  and  draw 
buckets  full  of  classic  lore,  or 
"  pure  English,  undefiled,"  where- 
with to  swell  their  own  scanty  rills 
of  thought. 

Being  now  in  possession  of  the 
secret,  I  sat  down  in  a  corner,  and 
watched  the  process  of  this  book- 
manufactory.  I  noticed  one  lean, 
bilious-looking  wight,  who  sought 
none  but  the  most  worm-eaten 
volumes,  printed  in  black  letter. 
He  was  evidently  constructing 
some  work  of  profound  erudition, 
that  would  be  purchased  by  every 
man  who  wished  to  be  thought 
learned,  placed  upon  a  conspicu- 
ous shelf  of  his  library,  or  laid 
upon  his  table — but  never  read. 
I  observed  him,  now  and  then, 
draw  a  large  fragment  of  biscuit 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  gnaw ; 
whether  it  was  his  dinner,  or  whe- 
ther he  was  endeavouring  to  keep 
off  that  exhaustion  of  the  stomach 
produced  by  much  pondering  over 
dry  works,  I  leave  to  harder  stu- 
dents than    myself   to   determine. 

There  was  one  dapper  little 
gentleman  in  bright  -  coloured 
clothes,  with  a  chirping,  gossip- 
ing expression  of  countenance, 
who  had  all  the  appearance  of  an 
author  on  good  terms  with  his 
bookseller.  After  considering  him 
attentively,  I  recognised  in  him  a 
diligent  getter  up  of  miscellaneous 
works,  which  bustled  off  well  with 
the  trade.  I  was  curious  to  see 
how  he  manufactured  his  wares. 
He  made  more  stir   and   show  of 


M 


THE   ART    OF    BOOK-MAKING. 


business  than  any  of  the  others ; 
dipping  into  various  books,  flut- 
tering over  the  leaves  of  manu- 
scripts, taking  a  morsel  out  of  one, 
a  morsel  out  of  another,  "  line 
upon  line,  precept  upon  precept, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little." 
The  contents  of  his  hook  seemed 
to  be  as  heterogeneous  as  those  of 
the  witches'  cauldron  in  Macbeth. 
It  was  here  a  finger  and  there  a 
thumb,  toe  of  frog  and  blind  worm's 
sting,  with  his  own  gossip  poured 
in  like  "  baboon's  blood,"  to  make 
the  medley  (;  slab  and  good." 

After  all,  thought  I,  may  not 
this  pilfering  disposition  be  im- 
planted in  authors  for  wise  purpo- 
ses ?  May  it  not  be  the  way  in  which 
Providence  has  taken  care  that  the 
seeds  of  knowledge  and  wisdom 
shall  be  preserved  from  age  to  age, 
in  spite  of  the  inevitable  decay  of 
the  works  in  which  they  were  first 
produced  ?  We  see  that  nature  has 
wisely,  though  whimsically,  pro- 
vided for  the  conveyance  of  seeds 
from  clime  to  clime,  in  the  maws 
of  certain  birds;  so  that  animals, 
which,  in  themselves,  are  little 
better  than  carrion,  and  apparent- 
ly the  lawless  plunderers  of  the 
orchard  and  the  corn-field,  are,  in 
fact,  nature's  carriers  to  disperse 
and  perpetuate  her  blessings.  In 
like  manner,  the  beauty  and 
fine  thoughts  of  ancient  and  obso- 
lete writers,  are  caught  up  by  these 
flights  of  predatory  authors,  and 
cast  forth,  again  to  flourish  and 
bear  fruit  in  a  remote  and  distant 
tract  of  time.  Many  of  their  works 
also  undergo  a  kind  of  metempsy- 
chosis, and  spring  up  under  new 
forms.  What  was  formerly  a  pon- 
derous history,  revives  in  the  shape 
of  a  romance— an  old  legend  chan- 


ges into  a  modern  play — and  a  so- 
ber philosophical  treatise  furnish- 
es the  body  for  a  whole  series  of 
bouncing  and  sparkling  essays. 
Thus  it  is  in  the  clearing  of  our 
American  woodlands :  where  we 
burn  down  a  forest  of  stately  pines, 
a  progeny  of  dwarf  oaks  start  up 
in  their  place;  and  we  never  see 
the  prostrate  trunk  of  a  tree  moul- 
dering into  soil,  but  it  gives  birth 
to  a  whole  tribe  of  fungi. 

Let  us  not,  then,  lament  over  the 
decay  and  oblivion  into  which  an- 
cient writers  descend  ;  they  do  but 
submit  to  the  great  law  of  nature, 
which  declares  that  all  sublunary 
shapes  of  matter  shall  be  limited 
in  their  duration,  but  which  de- 
crees also,  that  their  elements  shall 
never  perish.  Generation  after 
generation,  both  in  animal  and  ve- 
getable  life,  pass  away,  but  the  vi- 
tal principle  is  transmitted  to  pos- 
terity, and  the  species  continues  to 
flourish.  Thus,  also,  do  authors 
beget  authors,  and  having  produ- 
ced a  numerous  progeny,  in  a  good 
old  age  they  sleep  with  their  fa- 
thers; that  is  to  say,  with  the  au- 
thors who  preceded  them  —  and 
from  whom  they  had  stolen. 

Whilst  I  was  indulging  in  these 
rambling  fancies,  1  had  leaned  my 
head  against  a  pile  of  reverend  fo- 
lios. Whether  it  was  owing  to  the 
soporific  emanations  from  these 
works;  or  to  the  profound  quiet  of 
the  room  ;  or  to  the  lassitude  aris- 
ing from  much  wandering  ;  or  to 
an  unlucky  habit  of  napping  at 
improper  times  and  places,  with 
which  I  am  grievously  afflicted ;  so 
it  was,  that  I  fell  into  a  doze.  Still, 
however,  my  imagination  continu- 
ed bus}*-,  and  indeed  the  same 
scene  remained  before  my  mind's 


THK    ART    OF    BOOK-MAKING. 


i>3 


eye,  only  a  little  changed  in  some 
of  the  details.  I  dreamt  that  the 
chamber  was  still  decorated  with  the 

portraits  of  ancient  authors,  hut 
that  the  number  was  increased.  The 
long  tables  had  disappeared,  and 
in  place  of  the  sage  magi,  I  be- 
held a  ragged,  threadbare  throng, 
such  as  may  be  seen  plying  about 
that  great  repository  of  cast-off 
clothes,  Monmouth-street.  When- 
ever they  seized  upon  a  book,  by 
one  of  those  incongruities  common 
to  dreams,  methought  it  turned 
into  a  garment  of  foreign  or  an- 
tique fashion,  with  which  they  pro- 
ceeded to  equip  themselves.  I  no- 
ticed, however,  that  no  one  pre- 
tended to  clothe  himself  from  any 
particular  suit,  but  took  a  sleeve 
from  one,  a  cape  from  another,  a 
skirt  from  a  third,  thus  decking 
himself  out  piecemeal,  while 
some  of  his  original  rags  would 
peep  out  from  among  his  borrowed 
finer}-. 

There  was  a  portly,  rosy,  well- 
fed  parson,  whom  I  observed  ogling 
several  mouldy  polemical  writers 
through  an  eye-glass.  He  soon 
contrived  to  slip  on  the  voluminous 
mantle  of  one  of  the  old  fathers, 
and  having  purloined  the  grey 
beard  of  another,  endeavoured  to 
look  exceedingly  wise;  but  the 
smirking  commonplace  of  his  coun- 
tenance set  at  nought  all  the  trap- 
pings of  wisdom.  One  sickly- 
looking  gentleman  was  busied  em- 
broidering a  very  flimsy  garment 
with  gold  thread  drawn  out  of  se- 
veral old  court  dresses  of  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Another  had 
trimmed  himself  magnificently  from 
an  illuminated  manuscript,  had 
stuck  a  nosegay  in  his  bosom, 
culled  from  "  The  Paradise  of 
dainty  Devices,"  and  having  put 


Sir  Philip  Sidney's  hat  on  one  side 
of  his  head,  strutted  off  with  an 
exquisite  air  of  vulgar  elegance. 
A  third,  who  was  but  of  puny  di- 
mensions, had  bolstered  himself 
out  bravely  with  the  spoils  from  se- 
veral obscure  tracts  of  philosophy, 
so  that  he  had  a  very  imposing 
front;  but  he  was  lamentably  tat- 
tered in  rear,  and  I  perceived  that 
he  had  patched  his  small-clothes 
with  scraps  of  parchment  from  a 
Latin  author. 

There  were  some  well-dressed 
gentlemen,  it  is  true,  who  only 
helped  themselves  to  a  gem  or  so, 
which  sparkled  among  their  own 
ornaments  without  eclipsing  them. 
Some,  too,  seemed  to  contemplate 
the  costumes  of  the  old  writers, 
merely  to  imbibe  their  principles 
of  taste,  and  catch  their  air  and 
spirit ;  but  I  grieve  to  say,  that 
too  many  were  apt  to  array  them- 
selves, from  top  to  toe,  in  the 
patchwork  manner  I  have  men- 
tioned. I  should  not  omit  to  speak 
of  one  genius,  in  drab  breeches 
and  gaiters,  and  an  Arcadian  hat, 
who  had  a  violent  propensity  to 
the  pastoral,  but  whose  rural  wan- 
derings had  been  confined  to  the 
classic  haunts  of  Primrose  Hill, 
and  the  solitudes  of  the  Regent's 
Park.  He  had  decked  himself  in 
wreaths  and  ribbons  from  all  the 
old  pastoral  poets,  and  hanging 
his  head  on  one  side,  went  about 
with  a  fantastical,  lack-a-daisical 
air,  "  babbling  about  green  fields." 
But  the  personage  that  most  struck 
my  attention,  was  a  pragmatical 
old  gentleman,  in  clerical  robes, 
with  a  remarkably  large  and  square 
but  bald  head.  He  entered  the 
room  wheezing  and  puffing,  el- 
bowed his  way  through  the  throng, 
with  a  look   of  sturdy  self-confi- 


24 


THE   ART   OF   HOOK-MAKING. 


dence,  and  having  laid  hands  up- 
on a  thick  Greek  quarto,  clapped 
it  upon  his  head,  and  swept  majes- 
tically away  in  a  formidable  frizzled 
wig. 

In  the  height  of  this  literary  mas- 
querade, a  cry  suddenly  resound- 
ed from  every  side,  of  "  Thieves! 
thieves!"  I  looked,  and,  lo!  the 
portraits  about  the  walls  became 
animated!  The  old  authors  thrust 
out,  first  a  head,  then  a  shoulder, 
from  the  canvas  ;  looked  down  cu- 
riously for  an  instant  upon  the  mot- 
ley throng  ;  and  then  descended, 
with  fury  in  their  eyes,  to  claim 
their  rifled  property.  The  scene 
of  scampering  and  hubbub  that 
ensued,  baffles  all  description.  The 
unhappy  culprits  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  escape  with  their  plunder. 
On  one  side  might  be  seen  half 
a  dozen  old  monks  stripping  a 
modern  professor;  on  another, 
there  was  sad  devastation  carried 
into  the  ranks  of  modern  drama- 
tic writers.  Beaumont  and  Fletch- 
er, side  by  side,  raged  round  the 
field  like  Castor  and  Pollux;  and 
sturdy  Ben  Jonson  enacted  more 
wonders  than  when  a  volunteer 
with  the  army  in  Flanders.  As  to 
the  dapper  little  compiler  of  far- 
ragos, mentioned  some  time  since, 
he  had  arrayed  himself  in  as  many 
patches  and  colours  as  harlequin, 
and  there  was  as  fierce  a  contention 
of  claimants  about  him,  as  about  the 
dead  body  of  Patroclus.  I  was  griev- 
ed to  see  many  men,  to  whom  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  look  up  with 
awe  and  reverence,  fain  to  steal  off 
with  scarce  a  rag  to  cover  their  na- 
kedness. Just  then  my  eye  was 
caught  by  the  pragmatical  old 
gentleman  in  the  Greek  grizzled 
wig,  who  was  scrambling  away  in 


sore  affright  with  half  a  score  of 
authors  in  full  cry  after  him.  They 
were  close  upon  his  haunches  ;  in 
a  twinkling  off  went  his  wig;  at 
every  turn  some  strip  of  raiment 
was  peeled  away ;  until  in  a  few 
moments,  from  his  domineering 
pomp,  he  shrunk  into  a  little,  pur- 
sy, "  chopp'd  bald  shot,"  and  made 
his  exit  with  only  a  few  tags  and 
rags  fluttering  at  his  back. 

There  was  something  so  ludi- 
crous in  the  catastrophe  of  this 
learned  Theban,  that  I  burst  into 
an  immoderate  fit  of  laughter, 
which  broke  the  whole  illusion. 
The  tumult  and  the  scuffle  were  at 
an  end.  The  chamber  resumed  its 
usual  appearance.  The  old  au- 
thors shrunk  back  into  their  pic- 
ture-frames, and  hung  in  shadowy 
solemnity  along  the  walls.  In 
short,  I  found  myself  awake  in  my 
corner,  with  the  whole  assemblage 
of  bookworms  gazing  at  me  with 
astonishment.  Nothing  of  the 
dream  had  been  real  but  my  burst 
of  laughter,  a  sound  never  before 
heard  in  that  grave  sanctuary,  and 
so  abhorrent  to  the  ears  of  wisdom, 
as  to  electrify  the  fraternity. 

The  librarian  now  stepped  up 
to  me,  and  demanded  whether  I 
had  a  card  of  admission.  At  first  I 
did  not  comprehend  him,  but  I 
soon  found  that  the  library  was  a 
kind  of  literary  "  preserve,"  sub- 
ject to  game  laws,  and  that  no  one 
must  presume  to  hunt  there  with- 
out special  licence  and  permission. 
In  a  word,  I  stood  convicted  of  be- 
ing an  arrant  poacher,  and  was 
glad  to  make  a  precipitate  retreat, 
lest  I  should  have  a  whole  pack  of 
authors  let  loose  upon  me. 
(Geoffrey  Crayon's  Skttch-Book.) 


26 


PALL  JONES 

Wr.  continue  this  month  our 
particulars  relating  to  the  charac- 
ter and  conduct  of  Paul  Jones. 
The  correspondence  is  curious, 
and  has  the  additional  merit  of 
originality. 

It  appears  that  Paul  Jones  ac- 
tually purchased  the  plate  men- 
tioned before,  and  embraced  the 
first  opportunity,  after  peace,  to 
transmit  it  to  Lord  Selkirk,  accom- 
panied by  the  following  letter: 

Paris,  Feb.  12,  1784. 

My  Lord, — I  have  just  received 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Nesbitt,  dated  at 
L'Orient,  the  4th  instant,  mention- 
ing a  letter  to  him  from  your  son, 
Lord  Dair,  on  the  subject  of  the 
plate  that  was  taken  from  your 
house  by  some  of  my  people,  when 


I  commanded  the  Ranger,  and  has 
been  a  long  time  past  in  Mr.  Nes- 
bitt's  care.  A  short  time  before  I 
left  France  to  return  to  America, 
Mr.  W.  Alexander  wrote  to  me 
from  Paris  to  L'Orient,  that  he 
had,  at  my  request,  seen  and  con- 
versed with  your  lordship  in  Eng- 
land respecting  the  plate.  He  said 
you  had  agreed  that  I  should  re- 
store it,  and  that  it  might  be  for- 
warded to  the  care  of  your  sister- 
in-law,  the  Countess  of  Morton,  in 
London.  In  consequence,  I  now 
send  orders  to  Mr.  Nesbitt  to  for- 
ward the  plate  immediately  to  her 
care.  When  I  received  Mr.  Alex- 
ander's letter,  there  was  no  cartel 
or  other  vessel  at  L'Orient  that  I 
could  trust  with  a  charge  of  so  de- 
licate a  nature  as  your  plate,  and 
I  had  great  reason  to  expect  I 
should  have  returned  to  France 
within  six  months  after  I  embarked 
for  America ;  but  circumstances 
Vul.X.  Ko.LV. 


in  America  prevented  my  return- 
ing to  Europe  during  the  war, 
though  I  had  constant  expectation 
of  it. 

The  long  delay  that  has  hap- 
pened to  the  restoration  of  )rour 
plate,  has  given  me  much  concern, 
and  I  now  feel  a  proportionate 
pleasure  in  fulfilling  what  was  my 
first  intention.  My  motive  for 
landing  at  your  estate  in  Scotland, 
was  to  take  you  as  an  hostage  for 
the  lives  and  liberty  of  a  number 
of  the  citizens  of  America  who 
had  been  taken  in  war  on  the 
ocean,  and  committed  to  British 
prisons,  under  the  act  of  Parlia- 
ment, as  "  traitors,  pirates,  and 
felons."  You  observed  to  Mr. 
Alexander,  that  my  idea  was  a  mis- 
taken one,  because  you  were  not 
(as  I  had  supposed)  in  favour  with 
the  British  ministry,  who  knew  that 
you  favoured  the  cause  of  liberty. 
On  that  account,  I  am  glad  that 
you  were  absent  from  your  estate 
when  I  landed  there,  as  I  bore  no 
personal  enmity,  but  the  contrary, 
towards  you.  I  afterwards  had  the 
happiness  to  redeem  my  fellow-ci- 
tizens from  Britain,  by  means  far 
more  glorious  than  through  the  me- 
dium of  any  single  hostage. 

As  I  have  endeavoured  to  serve 
the  cause  of  liberty  through  every 
stage  of  the  American  revolution, 
and  sacrificed  to  it  my  private 
ease,  a  part  of  my  fortune,  and 
some  of  my  blood,  I  could  have 
no  selfish  motive  in  permitting  my 
people  to  demand  and  carry  off 
your  plate.  My  sole  inducement 
was  to  turn  their  attention,  and 
stop  their  rage  from  breaking  out, 
and  retaliating  on  your  house  and 
E 


26 


PAUL    JOXES. 


effects,  the  too  wanton  burnings 
and  desolation  that  had  been  com- 
mitted against  their  relations  and 
fellow-citizens  iu  America  by  the 
British,  of  which,  I  assure  you,  you 
would  have  felt  the  severe  conse- 
quence, had  I  not  fallen  on  an  ex- 
pedient to  prevent  it,  and  hurried 
my  people  away  before  they  had 
time  for  further  reflection.  As 
vou  were  so  obliging  to  say  to  Mr. 
Alexander,  that  my  people  be- 
haved with  great  decency  at  your 
house,  I  ask  the  favour  of  you  to 
announce  that  circumstance  to  the 
public.  I  am,  my  lord,  wishing 
you  always  perfect  freedom  and 
happiness,  your  lordship's  most 
obedient  and  most  humble  servant, 
(Signed,)         Paul  J  ONES. 

To  the  Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of 
Si; i  kitk,  in  Scotland. 

After  his  combat  with  the  Drake, 
Paul  Junes  sailed  round  the  north 
of  Scotland,  and,  on  the  5th  Sept. 
was  seen  off  Lerwick.  He  did  no 
damage,  however,  except  carrying 
off  a  boat  and  four  men  from  the 
island  of  Mousa.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded along  the  east  coast  of 
Scotland.  In  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember, he  sailed  up  the  frith  of 
Forth,  and  on  the  17th  was  seen 
nearly  opposite  to  Leith,  below 
the  island  of  Inchkeith.  A  violent 
south-west  wind,  however,  having 
arisen,  drove  his  squadron  so  ra- 
pidly down  the  Firth,  as  to  be  soon 
out  of  sight.  He  had  taken  and 
plundered  a  few  prizes.  He  sailed 
next  to  the  Texel,  into  which  he 
carried,  as  prizes,  two  British,  ves- 
sels of  war,  the  Serapis  and  the 
Countess  of  Scarborough,  which, 
after  an  obstinate  engagement,  he 
had  captured  near  Flamborough 
Head.     On  this  occasion,  the  Bri- 


tish   minister    made    urgent    de- 
mands, that  the  prizes,  as  well  as 
Paul  Jones  himself,  and  his  squad- 
ron, should  be  delivered  up  to  his 
government.      The   Dutch,    how- 
ever, on  the  2. 5th  Oct.  came  to  this 
resolution  :  "  That  they  could  not 
j  pretend   to  judge  of  the  legality 
j  or  illegality  of  the  actions  of  those 
who  had  taken,  on  the  open  sea, 
;  vessels   not    belonging    to    them- 
i  selves:  that  they  had  merely  given 
|  them     shelter    from     storms,    and 
|  would  oblige  them  to  put  to  sea, 
|!  so  that  the  British  might  themselves 
[|  have    an    opportunity    of   taking 
them."    To  this  resolution  they  ad- 
hered, notwithstanding  the  warm- 
est remonstrances   of  the   British 
minister. 

During  the  course  of  Jones's  stay 
at  the  Texel,  he  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing letters  to  the  Dutch  admi- 
ral, Baron  Vander  Capellen : 

On  board  the  Serapis,  at  the  Texel, 
Oct.  19,   1779. 

My  Lord, — Human  nature  and 
America  are  under  very  singular 
obligations  to  you  for  your  patri- 
otism and  friendship,  and  I  feel 
every  grateful  sentiment  for  your 
generous  and  polite  letter. 

Agreeably  to  your  request,  I 
have  the  honour  to  inclose  a  copy 
of  my  letter  to  his  PZxcellency  Dr. 
Franklin,  containing  a  particular 
account  of  my  late  expedition  on 
the  coasts  of  Britain  and  Ireland; 
by  which  you  will  see  that  I  have 
already  been  praised  more  than  I 
have  deserved.  But,  I  must  at  the 
same  time  beg  leave  to  observe, 
!  that,  by  the  other  papers  which  I 
I  take  the  liberty  to  inclose  (parti- 
cularly the  copy  of  my  letter  to 
the  Countess  of  Selkirk,  dated  the 
day  of  my  arrival  at  Brest  from 


PAUL  JONES. 


27 


the  Irish  Sea),  I  hope  you  will  be 
convinced,  that  in  the  British  prints 
I  have  been  censured  unjustly.  I 
was  indeed  born  in  Britain,  but  I 
do  not  inherit  the  degenerate  spirit 
of  that  fallen  nation,  which  I  at 
once  lament  and  despise.  It  is  far 
beneath  me  to  reply  to  their  hire- 
ling invectives;  they  are  strangers 
to  the  inward  approbation  that 
greatly  animates  and  rewards  the 
man,  who  draws  his  sword  only  in 
support  of  the  dignity  of  freedom. 

America  has  been  the  country 
of  my  fond  election  from  the  age 
of  thirteen,  when  I  first  saw  it.  I 
had  the  honour  to  hoist,  with  my 
own  hands,  the  flag  of  freedom, 
the  first  time  it  was  displayed  on 
the  Delaware,  and  I  have  attend- 
ed it  with  veneration  ever  since  on 
the  ocean.  I  see  it  respected  even 
here,  in  spite  of  the  pitiful  Sir  Jo- 
seph (Yorke),  and  I  ardently  wish 
and  hope  very  soon  to  exchange  a 
salute  with  the  flag  of  this  repub- 
lic. Let  but  the  two  republics 
join  hands,  and  they  will  give 
peace  to  the  world. 

Highly  ambitious  to  render  my- 
self worthy  of  your  friendship,  I 
have  the  honour  to  be,  my  lord, 
your  very  obliged  and  humble  ser- 
vant, &c.  &c. 

On  board  the  Alliance,  at  the  Texel, 
Nov.  29,  1779. 

My  Lord, — Since  I  had.  the  ho- 
nour to  receive  your  second  es- 
teemed letter,  I  have  unexpectedly 
had  occasion  to  revisit  Amsterdam  ; 
and  having  changed  ships  since 
my  return  to  the  Texel,  I  have,  by 
some  accident  or  neglect,  lost  or 
mislaid  your  letter.  I  remember, 
however,  the  questions  it  contain- 
ed ;  viz.  First,  Whether  I  ever  had 
any   obligation   to  Lord  Selkirk  ? 


Second,  Whether  he  accepted  my 
offer?  and  third,  Whether  I  have  a 
French  commission?  I  answer,  I 
never  had  any  obligation  to  Lord 
J  Selkirk,  except  for  bis  good  opini- 
i  on ;  nor  does  he  know  me  or  mine, 
j  except  by  character.  Lord  Sel- 
j  kirk  wrote  me  an  answer  to  my 
|  letter  to  the  countess;  but  the  mi- 
nistry detained  it  in  the  General 
Post-Office  in  London  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  returned  it  to  the 
author,  who  afterwards  wrote  to  a 
friend  of  his  (Mr.  Alexander),  an 
acquaintance  of  Dr.  Franklin's, 
then  at  Paris,  giving  him  an  ac- 
count of  the  fate  of  his  letter  to 
me,  and  desiring  him  to  acquaint 
his  excellency  and  myself,  that, 
"  if  the  plate  was  restored  by  Con- 
gress, or  by  any  public  body,  he 
would  accept  it,  but  that  he  could 
not  think  of  accepting  it  from  my 
private  generosity."  The  plate 
has,  however,  been  bought,  agree- 
ably to  my  letter  to  the  countess, 
and  now  lies  in  France,  at  her  dis- 
posal. As  to  the  third  article,  I 
never  bore,  nor  acted  under,  any 
other  commission  than  what  I  have 
received  from  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States  of  America. 

I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  my 
lord,  for  the  honour  yo  do  me,  by 
proposing  to  publish  the  papers  I 
sent  you  in  my  last;  but  it  is  an 
honour  which  I  must  decline,  be- 
cause I  cannot  publish  my  letter 
to  that  lady,  without  asking  and 
obtaining  the  lady's  consent,  and 
because  I  have  a  very  modest  opi- 
nion of  my  writings,  being  con- 
scious that  they  are  not  of  suffici- 
ent value  to  claim  the  notice  of 
the  public.  I  assure  you,  my  lord, 
it  has  given  me  much  concern  to 
see  m  extract  of  my. rough  journal 
E  2 


28 


THE   BJiTROTHMKNT. 


in  print,  and  that  too  under  the 
disadvantage  of  a  translation.  That 
mistaken  kindness  of  a  friend  will 
make  me  cautious  how  I  communi- 
cate my  papers.  I  have  the  honour 
to  be,  my  lord,  with  great  esteem 
and  respect,  &c.  &c. 

Paul  Jones  continued  in  the 
American  service  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  war;  and  on  the 
14th  April,  1781,  the  Congress  vo- 
ted to  him  an  address  of  thanks, 
and  presented  him  with  a  gold  me- 
dal. At  the  peace  of  1783  it  was 
aorreed  that  Jones  should  return 
some  of  the  prizes  taken  during 
the  war,  but  should  receive  a  pe- 
cuniary indemnification.  To  ar- 
range this  transaction,  he  sailed 
for  France,  and  arrived  at  Paris, 
where  he  was  received  with  great 
cordiality.  In  the  course  of  his 
residence  there,  he  received  the 
following  letter  from  Dr.  Franklin  : 

Havre,  July  21,  1785. 

Dear  Sir, — The  offer,  of  which 
you  desire  I  would  give  you  the 
particulars,  was  made  to  me  by 
M.  Le  Baron  de  Walterstorff,  in 
behalf  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of 
Denmark,  by  whose  ministers  he 
said  he  was  authorized  to  make  it. 
It  was  to  give  us  the  sum  of  ten 
thousand  pounds  sterling,  as  a 
compensation  for  having  delivered 
up  the  prizes  to  the  English.  I 
did  not  accept  it,  conceiving  it 
much  too  small  a  sum,  they  having 


been  valued  to  me  at  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Hodgson, 
an  insurer  in  London,  requesting 
he  would  procure  information  of 
the  sums  insured  on  those  Canada 
ships.  His  answer  was,  that  he 
could  find  no  traces  of  such  insur- 
ance ;  and  he  believed  none  was 
made,  for  that  the  government,  on 
whose  account  they  were  said  to 
be  loaded  with  military  stores,  ne- 
ver insured;  but  by  the  best  judg- 
ment he  could  make,  he  thought 
they  might  be  worth  sixteen  or 
eighteen  thousand  pounds  each. 
With  great  esteem,  I  have  the  ho- 
nour to  be,  sir,  your  most  obedi- 
ent and  most  humble  servant, 

B.  Franklin. 

Hon.  Pali.  Jones,  Esq. 

We  have  also  in  our  possession, 
an  original  card  of  invitation  to 
dinner  from  La  Fayette,  which 
shews  the  esteem  in  which  he  was 
held  by  that  eminent  character. 
He  was  satisfied  as  to  his  claims, 
and  returned  to  America.  But  in 
1788,  we  find  him  offering  his  ser- 
vices to  the  Empress  Catherine, 
by  whom  they  were  readily  ac- 
cepted. 

What  were  the  circumstances 
which  disgusted  Jones  with  the 
service  of  her  imperial  majes- 
ty, we  have  not  been  able  to  learn  ; 
but  it  appears  that,  in  1790,  he  was 
engaged  in  a  negociation  for  enter- 
ing into  the  service  of  her  enemies. 


THE    BETROTHMENT, 

(Continued  from  vol.  IX,  p.  284.) 


The  boy  Edward  had  acquiesced 
in  this  arrangement  with  no  other 
feeling,  than  that  of  regret  at 
being  deprived  of  the  society  of 
his  beautiful  little  playfellow.    The 


man,  however,  felt  otherwise.  The 
reflection  that,  without  any  act  of 
his  own,  he  was  deprived  of  the 
privilege  of  freelyoffering  himself, 
wherever  his  choice  might  direct, 


TUB    IlKTKOTHMENT 


29 


was  oppressive  to  the  independent 
spirit  of  the  youth,  and  with  in- 
creasingyears,  it  becamestill  more 
painful.  Although  every  account 
which  arrived,  agreed  in  praising 
the  charms  of  the  lovely  Emily,  al- 
though every  one  envied  him  the 
possession  of  so  rich  a  treasure, 
the  reflection,  "  I  must  be  her  hus- 
band," was  hateful  to  him,  and 
made  him  envious  of  the  free  lot 
of  all  around  him. 

He  anxiously  awaited  the  time 
when,  after  having  completed  his 
studies,  he  was  to  begin  his  travels. 
It  arrived  at  length,  and  Edward 
set  out  with  the  reflection,  "  This 
is  the  last  season  of  my  freedom ; 
it  will  swiftly  vanish,  and  I  must 
return,  and  bend  beneath  the 
galling  yoke."  Who  can  blame 
the  ardent  youth,  if  he  prolonged 
the  duration  of  this  interval  to  the 
latest  possible  period  ?  The  term 
at  length  expired,  and  he  received 
his  father's  commands  to  return 
home.  Under  various  pretences, 
he  still  delayed.  A  letter  at  last 
arrived,  with  the  intelligence  that 
his  betrothed  Emily,  on  the  death 
of  her  father,  had  returned  to 
Germanv,  and  unnnfj  his  immedi- 
ate  return,  in  order  that,  at  the  ex- 
piration of  her  year  of  mourning, 
their  union  might  be  completed. 
This  year  of  mourning  furnished 
Edward  with  a  new  pretence  for 
staying  away  ;  but  when  it  expired, 
an  urgent  and  anxious  letter  from 
his  father  entreated  him  to  delay 
no  longer.  With  the  feelings  of 
a  bird,  which,  after  a  short  hour  of 
liberty,  is  compelled  to  return  to 
its  cage,  the  unfortunate  Edward 
resolved  at  length  to  yield  to  ne- 
cessity, and  in  Venice  to  take  a 
final  leave,  as  it  were,  of  the  happy 


days  of  liberty.  But  here  his  des- 
tiny awaited  him.  If  he  had  before 
felt  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  the 
chains  to  which  he  was  condemned, 
they  now  became  absolutely  insup- 
portable, and  he  resolved,  cost 
what  it  would,  finally  to  burst 
asunder  the  hated  bonds.  More 
eagerly  than  ever  he  sought  to 
make  some  impression  on  the 
heart  of  the  baroness,  and  success 
appeared  to  crown  his  efforts :  he 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  she  re- 
turned his  passion,  and  he  imme- 
diately resolved  on  a  decisive  step. 
He  took  advantage  of  the  next 
opportunity  of  being  alone  with 
her,  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet, 
and  in  the  most  ardent  terms  to  de- 
clare his  love  :  he  did  not  attempt 
to  conceal  the  situation  in  which 
he  stood  with  his  own  family,  but 
added  an  assurance,  that  he  could 
deem  no  sacrifice  too  dear,  which 
could  enable  him  to  obtain  the 
hand  of  his  beloved.  The  baron- 
ess appeared  to  hear  his  declara- 
tion without  surprise ;  she  acknow- 
ledged with  blushes,  that  he  also 
had  aroused  emotions  in  her  heart 
of  which  she  had  been  hitherto 
unconscious,  and  that  she  would 
willingly  consent  to  be  his,  if  she 
were  not  equally  unfortunate  with 
himself.  From  her  childhood,  she 
had  also  been  affianced  to  a  person 
unknown  to  her,  and  she  could 
never  hope  to  obtain  the  consent 
of  her  relations  to  her  union  with 
another.  Solldingen  felt  as  if 
struck  by  lightning.  He  stood 
riveted  to  the  spot,  like  the  hus- 
bandman, who,  after  a  destructive 
storm,  regards  the  wasted  field, 
which  a  few  hours  before  gave 
promise  of  a  rich  and  abundant 
harvest. 


30 


THE    BET  ROTH. ME  NT. 


With  a  heart  torn  with  anguish 
he  returned  home,  cursing  the  ma- 
lignant destiny  which  stood  be- 
tween him  and  his  wishes.  What 
was  his  consternation  when  he 
learned,  that  his  father  had  ar- 
rived from  Germany,  and  expect- 
ed him  impatiently  in  his  own 
apartment!  He  scarcely  dared  to 
raise  his  eyes  to  the  venerable  II 
countenance  of  his  father,  who 
cried,  affectionately  embracing 
him,  "Welcome,  my  son !  Is  not 
this  a  surprise?  But  prepare  your- 
self  for  one  still  more  agreeable.  I 
do  not  come  alone.  Can  you  con-  ; 
jecture  who  it  is  that  accompanies 
me  ?  Your  affianced  bride  !  Urged 
by  tender  impatience,  she  deter-  ; 
mined  to  meet  you  on  your  return, 
and  obliged  me,  old  as  I  am,  to  be 
her  companion.  As  soon  as  she 
has  a  little  recovered  the  fatigue 
of  her  journey,  I  will  not  delay  to 
present  you  to  her." 

The  old  count  said  truly:  if  his  ' 
sudden    arrival  was    surprising  to 
his    son,  these    tidings    were   still 
more  so.     He  stammered  out  a  few 
incoherent  words,  and  endeavour-  I 
ed  to  conceal  the  anxiety  they  oc-  j 
casioned  him. 

As  soon  as  he  could  with  any  I 
propriety  escape  from  his-  father, 
he  hastened  to  his  own  apartment, 
which  lie  paced  with  rapid  strides, 
brooding  over  a  scheme  which  he 
had  hastily  formed.  "  Either  this 
cried  he  at  length 


aioud;  and  seizing  his  hat,  he  hur 
ried  to  the  baroness.  In  a  few 
words  he  explained  his  situation, 
and  added:  "  We  must  brave  every 
thing,  or  lose  all ;  the  time  is  arri- 
ved for  you  to  prove  whether  you 
truly  love  me.  Love  disdains  all 
sacrifices,  knows  no  self-interest, 


defies  all  dangers.  One  resource 
only  remains  to  us — flight.  If  you 
love  me,  you  must  this  night  ac- 
company me.  In  some  other 
country  the  church  shall  bless  our 
union;  we  will  then  seek  a  recon- 
ciliation with  our  parents,  and  if 
they  refuse,  I  am  capable,  by  fol- 
lowing some  profession,  of  sup- 
porting you  and  myself." 

The  baroness  at  first  appeared 
struck  with  terror  at  the  idea  of 
such  a  step,  but  the  entreaties  of 
Edward,  his  assurances  and  bis 
oaths  at  length  overcame  her  scru- 
ples and  her  dread,  and  she  con- 
sented :  midnight  was  fixed  for 
their  flight. 

Night  had  scarcely  spread  her 
dark  mantle  over  the  city,  when 
Edward,  with  the  assistance  of  his 
faithful  valet,  had  removed  the 
greatest  part  of  his  baggage  to  the 
gondola  which  he  had  prepared 
to  convey  them.  He  impatiently 
waited  for  midnight ;  the  wished- 
for  hour  at  length  sounded  from 
St.  Mark's  church,  and  he  instant- 
ly hastened  beneath  the  window  of 
his  beloved,  by  a  concerted  signal 
to  give  her  notice  of  his  being 
near,  when  he  found  himself  sud- 
denly seized  upon  by  a  band  of 
men,  who,  after  securely  binding 
i  him,  forced  him  from  the  spot.  In 
I  vain  he  struggled  against  numbers; 
I  he  found  himself  overpowered: 
|  his  head  was  enveloped  in  a  thick 
|  covering,  which  deprived  him  of 
sight,  and  of  the  power  of  making 
himself  heard;  and  thus,  in  per- 
fect darkness,  he  was  dragged  on 
board  a  gondola,  where  he  had  lei- 
sure to  curse  the  fate  which  had 
befallen  him. 

In  about  four  hours  time,  which 
seemed  an  eternity  to  the  unfortu- 


THI.    DRTKOTUMf'.XT. 


31 


nate  Edward,  the  jjondola  touched 
the  shore:   he  was  lifted  out  of  it, 
and  led   into  a   house,  and   up  a  j 
staircase,  and   then   thrust   into  a  ' 
room.     Whilst  they  were  loosen-  \ 
ing  the  bandage  from  his  eyes,  he 
had  no    doubt  of  finding    himself 
in  a  dungeon.     What  then  was  his 
surprise  when  the  covering  was  re- 
moved, and  he  found  himself  in  an 
apartment   brilliantly  lighted  up, 
and  standing  before  his  father! 

The  old  count  made  a  sign  to  the 
attendants  to  retire,  and  then  be- 
gan :  "  A  pretty  frolic  this,  young 
man!  Is  it  thus  you  honour  your 
family  and  your  rank?  Thanks  to 
the  watchfulness  of  the  police,  at 
the  head  of  which  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  you  have  been  prevented 
from  committing  such  a  piece  of 
follv.  .To  put  a  stop  for  ever  to  the 
possibility  of  such  tricks  in  future, 
the  priest  shall  this  very  hour  pro- 
nounce his  blessing  over  you,  and 
your  true  and  legally  affianced 
bride." 

"  Never  !"  cried  Edward. 

"  Do  not  provoke  my  anger," 
continued  the  old  count;  "  rejoice 
rather  that  I  overlook  your  fault, 
instead  of  punishing  it  as  it  de- 
serves. The  Countess  Hochfelsis 
informed  of  all.  She  has  deter- 
mined to  bury  in  oblivion  the  af- 
fair of  to-night,  and  is  ready  for  the 
ceremony;  the  priest  waits " 

"  My  father,"  interrupted  Ed- 
ward, "  I  swear  to  you  by  all  that 
is  sacred !" 

"  And  I,"  said  his  father,  "  com- 
mand you,  in  the  name  of  common 
sense,  to  give  up  this  foolery,  and 
to  bestow  your  hand  immediately 
o:i  the  countess."' 

"  My  heart  bleeds  to  disobey 
you,  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 


comply  !  Never  will  I  give  my  hand 
to  the  Countess  Hochfels." 

"  We  will  see  that,"  cried  his 
father,  taking  his  son  by  the  hand 
and  leading  him  into  another  room. 
A  large  company  was  here  assem- 
bled; by  the  side  of  a  small  altar 
stood  the  priest,  and  near  him  the 
Countess  Hochfels,  veiled.  "  Here, 
my  worthy  friends,  is  the  bride- 
groom; if  you  please,  we  will  now 
proceed  with  the  ceremony,"  said 
the  old  Count  Solldinsfen,  leading: 
his  son  towards  the  priest. 

"  Stop  !"  cried  the  young  count ; 
"  I  solemnly  protest  against  a 
union  which  I  can  never  ratifv." 

"  Is  this  your  final  resolution?" 
demanded  his  father,  with  a  stern 
and  angry  look. 

"  My  firm  and  irrevocable  reso- 
lution," replied  Edward. 

"  We  will  see  if  it  will  stand  the 
proof,  however,"  said  the  old 
count,  approaching  the  countess, 
and  drawing  aside  her  veil.  Ed- 
ward's eyes  involuntarily  followed 
him;  he  looked  towards  the  coun- 
tess, and  beheld  —  the  Baroness 
Espern. 

"  Who — who  is  this?"  stammer- 
ed he. 

"  Countess  Emily  von  Hochfels, 
your  despised  and  rejected  bride," 
answered  his  father. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?"  cried  the 
overjoyed  Edward,  falling  at  the 
feet  of  his  beloved. 

Now  came  the  explanation.  The 
charms  of  the  young  Countess 
Hochfels,  and  still  more  her  ta- 
lents, her  understanding,  and  her 
amiable  disposition,  had  assembled 
a  crowd  of  adorers  around  her. 
She  was  besieged  on  all  sides,  and 
overwhelmed  with  addresses  in 
prose  and  verse;  but,  aware  of  her 


32 


ADVMXTL'lttS    OF    DR.   SYNTAX. 


situation,  and  honouring  the  will 
of  her  father,  she  considered  her- 
self as  the  property  of  her  betroth- 
ed husband,  and  her  heart  re- 
mained untouched  amidst  univer- 
sal homage. 

It  did  not  indeed  escape  her  ob- 
servation, that  this  betrothed  hus- 
band, to  whom  she  sacrificed  every- 
thing, wrote  to  her  seldom,  and 
that  his  letters  were  short,  formal, 
and  unmeaning  ;  and  on  her  return 
to  Germany,  after  the  death  of  her 
father,  she  could  not  long  enter- 
tain any  doubts  as  to  the  senti- 
ments of  Edward.  Her  vanity — 
where  lives  the  woman  wholly  ex- 
empt from  this  inheritance  of  Eve  ? 
— her  vanity  was  piqued,  her  pride 
was  roused.  She  resolved,  under 
an  assumed  name,  to  endeavour  to 
gain  the  heart  of  the  obstinate 
count;  or  if  success  were  denied 
her,  to  dissolve  at  once  a  contract 
which  promised  no  chance  of  hap- 
piness. 

Her  plan  was  soon  arranged, 
and  she  set  out,  accompanied   by 


Edward's  father,  and  a  distant  re- 
lation, the  Baron  Espern,  for  whose 
niece  she  was  to  pass,  for  Venice. 
Here  she  met  Edward,  and  soon 
achieved  a  triumphant  victory  over 
his  rebellious  heart. 

As  he  listened  to  the  explana- 
tion, his  heart  was  divided  between 
remorse  and  gratitude.  "Enchan- 
tress !"  whispered  he, and  snatched 
an  ardent  kiss  from  the  white  hand 
of  the  lovely  relater. 

"  Now,  my  children,"  said 
Count  Solldingen,  "  do  not  let  the 
priest  wait  any  longer;  or  has  this 
young  man  any  more  firm,  irrevo- 
cable resolutions  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Edward,  "  and 
one  which  death  alone  can  dis- 
solve." 

"  And  that  is ?"  said  Emily, 

with  a  bewitching  smile. 

"  To  devote  my  existence  to 
you,"  cried  he,  as  he  pressed  her, 
blushing,  to  his  heart. 

"  Amen  !"  cried  the  old  count, 
and  led  the  happy  pair  to  the  altar. 


ADVENTURES  OF  DR.  SYNTAX. 


We  have  already  introduced  the 
"  Second  Tour  of  Dr.  Syntax  in 
Search  of  the  Picturesque"  to  our 
readers,  and  we  are  sure  that  they 
will  thank  us  for  again  laying  be- 
fore them  a  small  portion  of  the 
forthcoming  number,  which  is 
quite  as  humorous  and  entertain- 
ing as  any  part  of  the  first  volume. 
It  is  necessary  to  introduce  our 
quotation  by  stating,  that  the  hero 
and  his  man,  of  the  tale,  have  just 
escaped  from  the  perils  of  a  pelt- 
ing by  a  crowd  of  boys,  and  men 
like  boys,  who  with  rough  music, 
&c.  as  is  usual,  were  celebrating 


the  triumph  of  a  wife  over  her  hen- 
pecked and  belaboured  husband. 
The  rest  of  the  story  speaks  for 
itself. 


Syntax  made  clean,  in  arm-chair  seated. 
Was  by  the  landlord  humbly  greeted 
With  sorrow,  that  the  country-folk 
Should  have  annoy'd  hirn  with  their  joke. 
But  'twas  a  custom  with  the  people 
As  ancient  as  the  parish  steeple, 
A  kind  of  ceremonial  law, 
To  keep  the  marriage  pairs  in  awe; 
And  which  they  never  will  withhold 
Till  married  women  cease  to  scold, 
Or  men,  in  hope  of  quiet  lives, 
Refuse  a  beating  from  their  wives: 


ADVLNTUltLS    OI'tDU.  SYNTAX. 


33 


*'  But  if,"   he  said,  "  you  wish  to  know 

The  real  hist'ry  of  the  show, 

Or  any  other  branch  of  knowledge 

That  is  obtain'd  in  school  or  college, 

Our  Curate  will,  I  doubt  not,  join 

Your  social  pipe  or  ev'ning  wine, 

Nor  fail  to  aid  you  in  the  picking 

Of  your  asparagus  and  chicken. 

Of  middle  age  he  has  the  vigour, 

But  rather  comical  in  figure ; 

And  thus  of  late  he  has  the  name 

Well  known  in  literary  fame, 

With  which  the  gentry  of  our  club 

Have  pleas'd  this  learned  man  to  dub. 

'Tis  taken  from  a  famous  book, 

In  which  if  you  should  please  to  look, 

I  can  the  pleasant  volume  borrow, 

So  that  I  send  it  back  to-morrow, 

Where  in  the  prints  that  deck  the  page, 

You'll  see  the  learned  rev'rend  sage, 

So  like  in  ev'ry  point  of  view 

Of  hat  and  wig,  and  features  too, 

It  might  be  thought  the  artist's  hand 

Did  our  original  command; 

Nay,  'mong  the  gossips  of  our  town, 

He'll  soon  be  by  this  title  known, 

As  well  I  doubt  not  as  his  own : 

Nor  does  this    laughing   humour   tease 

hi  in, 
Indeed  it  rather  seems  to  please  him." 

They  who  have  Doctor  Syntax  seen, 
In  all  the  points  where  he  has  been, 
Must  know  his  heart  is  chiefly  bent 
On  gen'rous  deed,  with  grave  intent; 
But  still  his  fancy  oft  bespoke 
The  lively  laughter  by  his  joke^ 
And  though  his  looks  demure  were  seen, 
He  nurs'd  the  smiling  thought  within. 
And  here  he  felt  that  fun  might  rise, 
From  certain  eccentricities, 
As  they  might  be  disposed  to  strike  him, 
In  one  who,  more  or  less,  was  like  him. 
Though  it  is  true  that  he  suspected, 
'Twas  shape  of  wig  or  dress  neglected, 
Or  meagre  shape,  so  lank  and  thin, 
Or  pointed  nose,  or  lengthen'd  chin, 
With  a  similitude  of  feature, 
The  casual  work  of  frisky  Nature, 
WTho  sometimes  gives  the  look  of  brother 
To  those  who  never  saw  each  other, 

Vol-  X.  No.  LV. 


Which  now  produced  the  fond  conceit, 
'  Big  with  the  ev'ning's  promised  treat. 
Th'  invited  Curate  soon  appeat'd  ; 
!  The  Doctor  rubb'd  his  eyes  and  star'd, 
:  Look'd  in  the  mirror,  that  the  view 
Might  in  his  eye  his  form  renew, 
Nor  less  admiring  than  amaz'd, 
He  on  the  rival  Syntax  gaz'd. 

At  length,  all  drolleries  explain'd, 
A  friendly,  social  humour  reign'd. 
The  table  smil'd  with  plenteous  fare, 
The  bottle  and  the  bowl  were  there, 
And  'mid  the  pipe's  ascending  smoke, 
The  counterparts  alternate  spoke*. 
Syntax. 

"  My  ho->t,  I  doubt  not,  told  me  true 
When  he  referr'd  me,  sir,  to  yen, 
That  you  would  to  my  mind  explain 
The  meaning  of  the  noisome  train, 
Which,  in  the  ev'ning  of  the  day, 
Not  only  stopp'd  me  on  my  way, 
But  w  ith  their  rout  were  pleas'd  to  greet 

me, 
And  with  most  foul  salutes  to  meet  me. 
Its  history  perhaps  may  be 
Far  in  remote  antiquity. 
But  mem'rv  does  not  bow  recall 
A  trace  of  its  original." 
Curate. 

"  Nor  yet  can  I  ;    but  I  suppose 
It  was  among  the  vulgar  shows, 
When  Butler  wrote,  as  his  droll  wit 
In  Hudibras  has  painted  it  : 
A  book  writ  in  most  merry  strain, 
The  boast  of  Charles  the  Second's  reign  ;• 
And  so  much  fun  it  did  impart, 
The  king  could  say  it  all  by  heart; 
Though  you  must  know,  he  quite  forgot 
To  ask  if  Butler  starv'd  or  not: 
But  I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell 
A  story  you  could  paint  so  well. 
— As  to  this  custom,  I  must  own, 
It  might  as  well  be  let  alone  ; 
But  when  in  matrimonial  strife 
A  husband's  cudgell'd  by  his  wife, 
In  country-place,  ''tis  rather  common 
Thus  to  compliment  the  woman, 
And  by  this  noisy,  nasty  plan 
To  cast  disgrace  upon  the  man." 
*  See  Frontispiece. 


ADVENTURES    OF    DR.    SYNTAX, 


Syntax. 
"  Bat  tell  me,   if  this  kind  of  sporting 
May  happen  when  one  goes  a-courting ; 
And  if  he  may  these  honours  prove, 
Who's  cudgell'd  while  lie's  making  love. 
If  so,  I  am  already  done, 
To  figure  in  a  Skimmington." 
*     *     * '   #     #     •*     *      #     *      *•* 

Dr.  Syntax  then  relates  the  ad- 
venture that  was  the  subject  of  the 
specimen  we  inserted  in  a  preced- 
ing number.     The  Curate   after- 
wards proceeds  as  follows  : 
Curate. 
11  These  things  will  happen,  as  we  see; 
From  time  and  chance  we  none  are  free, 
Each  must  fulfil  his  destiny. 
I  also  can  unfold  a  fray, 
Which  was  brought  on  by  am'rous  play, 
Though  not  so  splendid  in  its  way, 
Nor  was  such  triumph  to  be  won 
As  with  your  high-wrought  Amazon. 

"  The  time's  long  past,  and  I've  forgot 
Whether  I  were  rude  or  not: 
I  cannot  say  or  yes  or  no, 
Though  perhaps  it  might  be  so; 
But  poising  a  large  folio  book, 
My  landlady's  outrageous  cook, 
Who,  whatever  were  her  other  charms, 
Had  a  most  potent  pair  of  arms, 
Laid  me  all  prostrate  on  the  floor, 
And  thus  concluded  my  amour. 
— 'Twas  Raleigh's  Hist'ry  of  the  World 
That  Sally  Dripping's  fury  hurl'd; 
But  as  the  world  had  ta'en  the  held, 
I  felt  it  no  disgrace  to  yield. 
And  thus  I  think,  my  rev'rend  brother, 
Our  fates  resemble  one  another." 
Syntax. 
"  Our  tempers  too,  for  you  have  spoke 
As  is  my  taste  in  classic  joke. 
Nor  do  I  wonder  some  may  see 
A  likeness  between  you  and  me  ; 
Though  that  indeed  might  well  appear 
Before  we  met  together  here; 
Because  in  ev'ry  town  is  seen 
A  book  I  wrote  to  cure  the  spleen, 
In  which,  by  faithful  art  pourtray'd, 
My  portrait  is  at  length  display'd. 


I  see  you've  my  facetious  grin. 
Nor  do  you  lack  my  length  of  chin  ; 
I  think  too,  as  my  eyes  presage, 
That  we  may  be  of  equal  age, 
And  in  our  sev'ral  shapes  are  shewn 
An  equal  share  of  skin  and  bone  : 
So  far  I  think  we're  rather  like, 
As  may  the  calm  observer  strike  ; 
Besides,  the  church  doth  clothe  our  back 
i  In  the  similitude  of  black, 
And  we  prefer  our  brains  to  rig 
In  the  grave  dignity  of  wig, 
Leaving  the  simple  hair  to  grace 
The  dandy  preacher's  boyish  face. 
— So  far  so  like  our  persons  are, 
Such  our  appearance  must  declare, 
That  it  may  make  good  humour  laugh, 
As  we  our  evening  bev'rage  quaff, 
While  I  trust  that  we  may  find 
A  better  likeness  in  the  mind." 

"  Doctor,"  the  smiling  Curate  said, 
]  "  Your  form  I've  seen  as  'tis  pourtray'd 
In  the  fam'd  Tour  which  I  have  read  ; 
And  shall  with  added   pleasure   quote  it, 
Now  I  kave  seen  the  sage  who  wrote  it. 
My  hat  and  wig  have  been  the  joke, 
Like  yours,  of  idle  country-folk  ; 
From  jests  and  gibes  I  was  not  free 
When  ill  fed  by  my  curacy. 
But,  rev'rend  sir,  you  may  believe  me, 
H'  reason's  self  does  not  deceive  me. 
And  I  avow  it  to   be    true : 
In  virtue  to  resemble  you; 
To  have  the  knowledge  you  possess, 
And  my  mind  clad  in  such  a  dress 
As  that  which  learning  doth  confer 
On  your  distinguish'd  character, 
I'd  care  not  were  I  fat  or  thin, 
Or  who  might  laugh  or  who  might  grin; 
I  But  proud  in  any  way  to  share 
The  well-known  title  which  you  bear. 
I  wish  my  honest  fame  no  better, 
Than  to  be  like  you  a  la  lettrc, 
And  Doctor  Syntax  nicknam'd  be, 
Whiletonguescan  givethat  name  tome." 

Thus  with  kind  thoughts  the  night  be- 
gan, 
And  quick  the  pleasant  moments  ran. 
The  rubied  glass,  the  well-fed  bowl, 
Awoke  the  lively  flow  of  soul  ; 


ON    Tin.    OKGAK. 


35 


Dili  they  had  nowfso  long  conferr'di 
They  slammcr'il  out  what  neither  heard; 
And  as  each  loll'd  in  easy  chair, 
Sleep   seized  them  both,  and  lix'd  them 

there. 
Thus  as  they  did  their  slumbers  take, 
They  look'd  as  like  as  when  awake; 
For  when  the  landlord  op'd  the  door, 
Invited  bv  their  double  snore, 
And  order'd  Syntax  to  be  led 
With  due  attend, nice  to  his  bed, 
They  took  the  Curate  with  ail  care, 
And  saw  him  sale  and  bolster'd  there: 
While  Syntax,  on  unsteady  feet, 
Was  slowly  guided   through  the  street, 
And  him  the  ostler  help'd  to  clamber 
Up  to  the  Curate's  airy  chamber. 
Thus,    as   they   talk'd,   or    look'd,  or 

mov'd, 
These  Doctors  had  their  likeness  prov'd  : 
Alike   with    punch    each   charg'd    his 

head, 
Alike  had  sought  each  other's  bed, 


And  slept  unconscious  of  the  sorrow 
That    head  -  aches   might    produce   to- 
morrow. 
— Poor  Patrick,  who  had  play'd  the  sot, 
His  zealous  duties  quite  forgot, 
And  to  attain  his  roust  unable, 
Had  pass'd  the  night  within  the  stable. 
— The  morning  came,  but  came  too  soon, 
For  these  two  likenesses  till  noon 
Possession  of  their  pillows  kept, 
So  like  each  other  had  they  slept; 
And  when  they' woke,  around  them  gas' d 
Alike  confounded  and  amazM; 
Alike  thought  on  their  mutual  name, 
And  felt  an  equal  sense  of  shame; 
NTay  both  appear'd,  when  thus  they  met, 
Their  evening's  likeness  to  forget. 
Syntax,  who  fear'd  all  might  be  known 
Throughout  the  tittle-tattle  town, 

ID 

Thought  'twould  be  wise  for  him  to  go, 
Nor  through  the  day  become  a  show, 
But  leave  the  Curate  to  the  glory 
Of  making  out  a  flatt'ring  story. 


OxN  THE 

Mr.  Editor, 

I  have  often  regretted  that, 
among  the  many  excellent  trea- 
tises which  have  been  occasionally 
published  on  the  character  and 
best  method  of  performing  on  va- 
rious musical  instruments,  that 
most  noble  of  all,  the  organ,  should 
be  so  much  neglected.  On  look- 
ing through  the  musical  criticisms 
which  have  distinguished  your  Re- 
pository since  its  commencement,  I 
have  not  found  a-ny  work  on  that 
subject :  its  superiority,  however, 
to  the  piano-forte,  must  be  evident 
to  any  one  who  attentively  consi- 
ders their  different  construction. 
The  object  of  my  present  letter  is, 
to  hint  to  the  man}^  able  profes- 
sors who  are  so  competent  to  the 
ta^k,  the  publication  of  a  treatise 


ORGAN, 

on  the  nature  and  construction  of 
church  and  chamber  organs; — the 
distinct  character  of  each  stop  (as 
generally  used  by  English  build- 
ers), shewing  how  their  qualities 
may  be  most  advantageously  blend- 
ed ; — on  the  management  of  the 
swell,  pedals,  &c;  and  to  conclude 
with  exercises  from  the  ancient  and 
modern  composers.  Many  other 
important  observations  would  sug- 
gest themselves  to  a  professor;  and 
in  the  hope  that  this  recommenda- 
tion may  be  adopted  by  such  a 
person  (whose  labour,  I  think,  it 
could  not  fail  to  repay),  I  request 
your  insertion  of  this  letter,  which 
will  much  oblige  your  constant 
reader, 

W.H.M. 

June  2,   1*20. 

F  2 


THE    FEMALE   TATTLER. 


P.  S.  I  had  at  first  doubts  whe- 


ther I  should  address  the  Editor  of 

the  Repository  on  this  subject,  but 

having  observed,  in  an  early  Num-  ! 

ber,   a  letter  from  Glasgow,  sug-  i 

gesting  the  addition  of  barrels  to  |  described 

the  piano-forte,   which  has  since 


that  time  been  so  ingeniously  car- 


ried into  effect;  lam  induced  to 
hope,  that  this  hint  may  also,  at 
some  future  time,  be  the  cause  of 
producing  such  a  treatise  as  I  have 


ON  ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 

Ox  reading  your  letter, 
mentioning  the  origin  of  St.  Va- 
lentine's day,  in  the  Repository  of 
Arts,  &c.  for  May,  I  recollected 
that  eight  or  nine  years  ago,  one 
of  my  young  people  wished  to 
know  who  was  St.  Valentine;  and 
I  inquired  of  my  son's  tutor,  a 
most  intelligent  man,  and  an  ex- 
cellent  scholar.  He  said  that  he 
had  always  understood  that  St.  J 
Valentine  had  lived  about  the  third 
century;  he  was  a  bishop,  and  was 
noted  for  his  religious  zeal :  that 
each  of  his  followers  was  directed 
by  him  to  choose  an  individual  of 


an  opposite  sex;  and  they  were 
mutually  to  watch  over  each  other's 
spiritual  concerns  for  the  space  of 
one  year:  this  he  found  had  the 
best  possible  effect  on  the  conduct 
of  his  people,  and  was  continued 
by  him.  Such  was  the  origin  of 
choosing  a  mate  on  St.  Valentine's 
day.  If  this  information  can  be  of 
any  use  to  you  in  your  explanation 
of  this  old  custom,  I  shall  be  hap- 
py in  having  sent  it.  I  remain 
yours,  A.M. 

A  constant  Reader  of  your 
Magazine  in  Scotland. 

May  18,  1820. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  LV. 


Then,  like  the  Sibyl's  leaves, 

O  scatter  them  abroad! Dryde.v. 


I  had  for  some  time  suspected  n  spondent,  who  has  assumed    that 


that  the  Lady  of  Nineteen  appeared 
in   a  borrowed  dress;  and  I  have 


age,  is  old  enough  to  have  a  dauirh- 
ter   of  nineteen;  and    for    whose 


now    discovered   that    my  corre-  !'  improvement,    or    rather   for    the 


TDK   FRMALK   TATTLKR. 


57 


formation  of  whose  conduct,  she 
has  written  the  string  of  maxims 
which  I  successively  offer  to  those 
of  my  readers  to  whom  they  may 
be  particularly  requisite;  though 
I  know  of  no  class  who  may  not, 
more  or  less,  derive  benefit  from 
them.  

Rule  as  much  as  you  are  able 
with  an  even  hand,  and  steer  be- 
tween pride  and  familiarity. 

Let  your  own  example  discoun- 
tenance small  irregularities,  that 
they  may  not  be  augmented. 

Treat  no  kind  of  misconduct 
among  your  friends  with  indiffer- 
ence, much  less  with  mirth  or  ap- 
plause, in  the  hearing  of  your  ser- 
vants ;  as  they  will  not  fail  to  take 
an  advantage  of  it  at  some  moment 
or  other. 

Scorn  to  employ  them,  at  any 
juncture,  in  mean  researches  for 
the  gratification  of  your  curiosity  ; 
it  will  entitle  them  to  indulge  their 
own  at  your  expense.  Teach  them, 
by  your  own  steady  adherence  to 
truth,  and  a  becoming  abhorrence 
of  the  least  deviation  from  it,  a 
strict  observance  of  its  dictates. 

On  the  first  discovery  of  a  fault, 
obstruct  not  a  free  confession  of 
it  by  excessive  severity. 

Prevent  your  servants  from  in- 
terfering with,  or  revealing  the 
embroilments  in  other  families. 

Wherever  your  influence  shall 
be  established,  let  not  a  word  or 
look  contribute  to  the  distress  or 
disgrace  of  dependent  persons ; 
save  them,  if  your  humane  inter- 
position can  effect  a  work  of  such 
justice. 

Incline  ever  to  the  merciful  side 
in  reproof  or  condemnation  of  your 
fiomestics:    if   the   offender    shall 


be  lost  to  repentance  afterwards, 
you  will  have  nothing  to  reproach 
yourself  with. 

There  are  moments  of  uneasi- 
ness, from  which  none  on  earth 
can  always  be  exempt;  but  let  it 
not  fall,  in  sallies  of  peevishness, 
on  your  servants. 

If  hurried  by  natural  harshness 
of  temper  into  some  sudden,  pas- 
sionate expression,  be  not  ashamed, 
on  due  reflection,  to  apologize  for 
it ;  few  minds  are  so  base  as  not 
to  feel  the  condescension. 

It  is  a  justifiahle  pride,  if  any 
may  be  deemed  such,  to  conceal 
our  joys  or  our  sorrows  from  those 
who  are  incapable  of  understand- 
ing their  causes. 

Allow  your  servants  certain  hours 
of  innocent  relaxation  when  their 
daily  task  is  well  performed. 

Rigorously  correct  all  propensi- 
ty to  gaming  ;  but,  to  enforce  the 
precept,  observe  it  yourself. 

Furnish  them  with  a  constant 
series  of  occupation ;  pay  their 
acquirement  of  a  useful  talent,  if 
you  shall  perceive  their  disposition 
towards  learning. 

If  inclined  to  read,  give  them 
books  adapted  to  their  capacity, 
and  prohibit  such  as  may  endan- 
ger their  principles. 

Take  care  that  they  diligently 
perform  their  religious  duties,  even 
if  of  a  different  persuasion  from 
that  of  your  own  :  it  is  impossible 
they  should  serve  you  well,  who 
neglect  the  first  of  all  services. 

Take  tender  care  of  them  in 
sickness;  give  them  suitable  con- 
solation in  distress;  and,  at  such 
periods,  put  away  the  superior,  to 
assume  the  Christian  alone. 

Demonstrate,  by  the  justice  of 


38 


THE   FEMALE    TATTLT-R. 


your  orders,  your  perfect  know- 
ledge of  all  which  concerns  your 
family  affairs. 

You  will  nowise  demean  your- 
self, by  examining  minutely  into 
all  the  details  of  your  household  at 
proper  seasons. 

Your  sudden  and  unexpected 
appearance  will  awaken  that  dili- 
gence among  your  servants,  which 
a  too  frequent  and  familiar  com- 
munication will  lay  asleep. 

Inspections,  diligently  and  ju- 
diciously made,  will  maintain  pro- 
bit}-  among  your  agents  ;  but  a  sus- 
picious temper  will  only  encou- 
rage hypocrisy,  and  teach  craft  and 
treachery. 

Conceal  from  the  indifferent 
spectator,  the  secret  springs  which 
move,  regulate,  and  perfect  the 
arrangements  of  your   household. 

A  good  manager  and  a  notable 
woman  proves  but  too  often  to  be 
a  very  unpleasant  being  in  society ; 
these  duties  should  be  performed 
in  the  circle  of  their  own  domestic 
sphere,  and  are  never  to  be  boasted 
of  out  of  it. 

If  your  fortune  lie  moderate, 
economy  is  absolutely  necessary; 
if  considerable,  method  and  pru- 
dence will  render  it  doubly  bene- 
ficial. 

Observe  the  utmost  regularity 
in  the  keeping  of  your  household 
accounts;  it  is  tranquillity  to  you, 
justice  to  your  dependents. 

Young    persons,    unacquainted 
with   the   vicissitudes    of  fortune, 
live  mostly  according  to  the  nomi-  | 
nal,  not  the  effective. 

But  they  who  allow  themselves 
hours  of  reflection,  must  expect 
changes,  and  prepare  for  accidents. 

Suffer  not  avaricious  principles 
to  deceive  you  in  the  shape  of  eco- 


nomy; nor  a  desire  of  augmenting 
your  fortune  render  you  oppressive. 

Exert  the  powers  of  persuasion 
on  the  person  you  depend  on,  to 
make  those  who  depend  on  you 
happy. 

By  examples  of  pity  in  your  own 
breast,  prevent  and  discourage  the 
unfeeling,  though  warranted,  pur- 
suits of  rapacious  emissaries,  in 
collecting  your  dues  from  your 
estate. 

If,  in  order  to  live  yourself,  you 
are  compelled  to  trouble  the  ex- 
istence of  others,  endeavour,  by 
some  act  of  lenity  and  charity,  to 
compensate  for  their  present  dis- 
tress. 

The  luxury  of  this  age  exacts 
from  the  mistress  of  a  great  house, 
or  indeed  a  smaller,  some  attention 
to  a  table;  disdain  not  therefore 
to  give  a  proper  application  to  that 
study. 

Neatness  and  elegance  should 
be  joined  to  each  other;  ostenta^ 
tion  and  profusion  are  in  general 
equally  united,  and  equally  to  be 
avoided. 

Those  who  suddenly  arrive  at  af- 
fluence in  dependent  stations,  are 
subject  to  neglect  the  interests  of 
their  superiors. 

The  pretext  of  doing  you  ho- 
nour, is  the  common  excuse  for 
extravagance,  among  such  as  are 
only  attached  to  you  from  motives 
of  interest. 

Superfluities  in  a  great  family, 
well  directed,  would  save  a  multi- 
tude of  objects  from  distress;  de- 
vote them  therefore  to  that  only 
worthy  purpose. 

Let  your  attention  at  your  table 
be  universal,  nor  sit  down  to  it 
like  a  stranger  yourself. 

There  should  be  no  marked  pre- 


THR    I!.  MAI.!:    TATTI.HIt. 


r>) 


ferences  shewn,  where  popularity 

may  essentially  contribute   to  the 
welfare  of  a  family. 

it  is  not  hypocrisy  to  conceal 
just  dislike  at  certain  periods. 

Avoid  whispering  in  mixed  so- 
cieties; it  is  alarming  to  the  sus- 
picious, mortifying  to  the  humble, 
and  in  itself  a  habit  of  great  im- 
propriety. 

Loud  speaking-  and  excessive 
laughter,  the  latter  either  pointed 
or  unmeaning,  are  both  unbecom- 
ing ;  these  unguarded  customs, 
contracted  among  intimates,  are 
never  pardoned  by  the  world. 

Assume  no  masculine  airs:  to 
support  necessary  fatigue  is  meri- 
torious, but  real  robustness  and 
superior  force  are  denied  you  by 
nature;  its  semblance,  denied  you 
by  the  laws  of  decency. 

On  no  occasion  reiax  in  the  ar- 
ticle of  cleanliness  regarding  your 
own  person,  nor  suffer  indolence 
or  sickness  to  destroy  a  habit, 
which  is  as  much  connected  with 
health  as  it  is  with  decorum. 

With  regard  to  dress,  do  not  as- 
pire to  be  a  leader  in  fashions,  nor 
excessive  in  point  of  ornament. 

Follow  fashions  at  a  moderate 
distance,  nor  blindly  adopt  such 
as  may  expose  you  to  ridicule  ;  for 
servile  imitation  makes  no  distinc- 
tions. 

Age,  beauty,  and  fortune  should 
be  similar,  to  make  the  same  or- 
naments suitable  to  different  per- 
sons ;  pursue  therefore  your  own 
path  of  propriety,  and  consult  your 
reason  more  than  your  glass. 

Give  up  every  favoured  opinion 
in  point  of  dress,  to  that  of  those 
whom  it  is  your  duty  to  please. 


While  young,  you  have  little 
need  of  ornaments;  when  old,  they 
arc  ineffectual. 

Attempt  not  to  attract  the  eye 
of  the  public  by  singularity  ;  cen- 
sure will  silence  applause,  how- 
ever Battery  may  have  encouraged 
you  in  the  enterprise. 

Those  of  our  sex  endowed  with 
rare  talents,  are  sometimes  too 
negligent  of  personal  advantages. 
Science  and  neatness  are  no  natu- 
ral opponents. 

A  superior  understanding  will 
exclude  the  little  vanities  habitual 
to  our  sex. 

But  it  must  not  extinguish  that 
complaisance  due  to  the  customs 
of  a  world  we  are  destined  to  live 
with,  provided  it  leads  us  not  be- 
yond the  limits  of  our  fortune. 

There  are  societies  so  critical  in 
dress,  as  renders  their  access  terri- 
ble to  sensible  and  modest  persons ; 
whose  consciousness,  or  of  their 
bodily  defects,  or  of  the  small ness 
of  their  revenues,  ill  prepares  them 
for  the  encountering  of  contemp- 
tuous examination. 

Should  those  you  are  the  most 
intimate  with,  fall  inadvertently 
into  mistakes  that  may  expose 
their  dress  or  manner  to  ridicule, 
it  will  be  as  kind  to  give  them 
private  admonition,  as  it  would  be 
inhuman  to  join  in  the  public  cen- 
sure. 

It  is  evident  that  the  graces  of 

the   person     give   favourable    im- 

ji  pressions  of  the  mind,  which    re- 

J  flection    should    be   a  monitor   to 

correct    all   awkward    habits   and 

gestures. 

F T . 


40 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Air  with  Variations  for  the  Piano- 
forte, dedicated  to  Mrs.  Theodo- 
sia  Logier,  by  F.  Kalkbrenner. 
Pr.  3s.  (Goulding  and  Co.) 
The  theme  of  these  variations  is 
by  Mr.  Logier;  their  dedication 
therefore  to  Mrs.  L.  enhances  the 
value  of  the  offering  to  that  lady, 
to  whom  it  must  have  been  parti- 
cularly grateful  to  see  the  simple, 
but  classic  subject  of  her  partner 
in  life,  capable  of  the  high  degree 
of  luxuriant  amplification  which 
Mr.  Kalkbrenner's  masterly  en- 
deavours have  succeeded  in  im- 
parting to  it.  Few  productions  of 
Mr.  K.  have  given  us  more  real 
gratification,  than  these  variations. 
They  are  evidently  written  con 
-amorc,  and  with  a  careful  aim  at 
excellence;  their  style  is  a  mix- 
ture of  the  severe  and  elegant; 
grandeur  and  originality  of  con- 
ception are  blended  with  tasteful 
expression  and  fanciful  embellish- 
ment. Among  the  seven  variations, 
No.  3.  will  be  found  particularly 
deserving  the  amateur's  attention; 
its  fine  contrapuntal  arrangement 
and  original  track  of  modulation 
bespeak  profound  science  in  the 
art,  and  poetical  feeling.  No  prai- 
ses can  be  too  high  for  such  wri- 
tiiv.  Of  the  6th  and  7th  varia- 
tions,  we  are  bound  to  speak  in 
terms  equally  strong;  they  are 
master-pieces.  In  the  7th  (p.  6, 
b.  1,)  a  typographical  error  should 
be  corrected :  the  c  h  in  the  treble 
ought  to  be  c  b-  These  variations 
are  concluded  by  a  finale,  which, 
while  it  proceeds  in  the  spirit  of 
the  subject,  exhibits  combinations 
of  a  novel  and  very  interesting  de- 


scription, and  expires,  as  it  were, 
in  strains  of  soothing  tranquillity. 

Once  more,  in  this  composition 
Mr.  K.  appears  to  have  exerted  the 
full  measure  of  his  powers,  and 
we  doubt  whether  the  present  ge- 
neration furnish  a  competitor  who 
could  successfully  rival  him  in  the 
treatment  of  this  subject. 
A  Series  of  Caledonian  Airs,  with 

Variations  for   the   Piano- forte, 

by  J.  F.  Burrowes.    Nos.  IV.  and 

V.     Pr.  2s.  6d.  each.   (Goulding 

and  Co.) 

The  well-known  air  of  "  Auld 
Lang  Syne"  forms  the  theme  of 
the  fourth  number  of  this  series. 
When  we  consider  the  multitude 
of  variations  that  have  flowed  from 
the  pen  of  Mr.  B.  it  appears  a  mat- 
ter of  surprise  to  find  the  stream 
not  only  undiminished  in  vigour, 
but  its  innumerable  channels  con- 
stantly exhibiting  new  varieties  in 
their  fanciful  courses.  In  the  va- 
riations before  us,  the  regularity 
of  the  theme  has  afforded  particu- 
lar facilities,  of  which  Mr.  B.  has 
judiciously  availed  himself.  The 
2d  variation  is  rendered  attractive 
by  its  good  bass;  in  the  3d  we  ob- 
serve a  lightsome  neatness;  the 
passages  in  No.  4.  are  fluent  and 
graceful ;  and  the  same  remark  ap- 
plies forcibly  to  No.  6.  the  proper 
execution  of  which  requires  good 
practice.  A  very  striking  coda 
winds  up  the  whole. 

The  fifth  number  varies  "  The 
White  Cockade,"  a  tune  which  we 
should  like  well  enough,  if  it  end- 
ed .  any  where;  but  the  formula 
of  termination  by  the  3d  of  the 
key  has  something  unsatisfying  to 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


41 


our  ear;  it  seems  constantly  to  in- 
vite a  Da  capo,  a  circle  without 
end.  Upon  this  air,  however,  Mr. 
B.  appears  to  have  hestowed  so 
much  of  his  talent,  that,  in  wit- 
nessing the  treatment,  our  dislike 
has  been  much  subdued.  In  the 
1st  variation,  new  interest  is  ex- 
cited by  a  novel  harmonic  support, 
differing  from  the  authentic  accom- 
paniment.  The  3d  variation  boasts 
an  essentially  good  bass.  In  No.  4- 
the  theme  is  very  gracefully  am- 
plified; and  the  6th  variation  may 
be  termed  excellent,  the  singing 
melody  being  very  ably  sustained 
by  a  bass  of  select  arrangement. 
The  counterpoints  in  the  2d  part, 
and  the  plav  with  the  theme  in  D 
major,  until,  by  a  bold  push,  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  key  of  F,  me- 
rit special  and  very  favourable  no- 
tice. The  coda  which  immediate- 
ly succeeds,  is  again  in  the  best 
style,  smart  and  brilliant. 
Dramatic  Airs  from  English,  Ita- 
lian, German,  and  French  Operas, 
arranged  as  Rondos  for  the  Piano- 
forte. No.  V.  Pr.  2s.  6d.  (Pres- 
ton, Strand.) 

An  andante  in  the  key  of  C, ,-| 
forms  the  introduction  to  this  num- 
ber, the  predecessors  of  which  have 
been  commented  upon  in  former 
reviews.  The  beginning  of  this 
movement,  with  the  chord  of  E, 
3,  6,  is  somewhat  singular.  After 
a  few  desultory  evolutions,  a  re- 
gular and  pleasing  cantabile  suc- 
ceeds; and  towards  the  conclusion, 
the  melody  assumes  the  recitative 
character. 

The  subject  of  the  rondo  is  from 
Rossini's  celebrated  air  "  Di  tan- 
ti  palpiti,"  in  the  opera  of  Tancre- 
di.  We  could  have  wished  a  lar- 
ger portion  of  this  delightful  song 
f'ol.  X.  No.  Lf. 


had  been  interwoven  in  the  tex- 
ture of  the  present  rondo;  little 
more  than  the  motivo  is  propound- 
ed :  but  what  has  been  brought  in 
has,  we  are  bound  to  own,  receiv- 
ed a  very  satisfactory  treatment. 
The  digressive  portions  not  only 
are  quite  in  analogy  with  the  theme, 
but  also  conceived  in  a  tasteful 
stvle.  Among  the  varieties  intro- 
duced, the  part  in  three  flats  (p.  5,) 
produces  an  effective  contrast :  the 
transposition  of  the  theme,  also, 
into  E  b  major,  and  its  subsequent 
imitation  in  a  minor  key,  are  en- 
titled to  favourable  mention.  The 
termination  is  bustling  and  bril- 
liant. 

Mr.  M.  P.  King  is  the  author  of 
this  number. 

The  Albion  Rondo  for  the  Piano- 
forte, composed,  and  respectfully 
inscribed  to  the  Miss  Lloyds  (Misses 
Lloyd  ?)  of  Hintlesliam  Hall,  Suf- 
folk, by  E.  Frost.  Pr.  2s.  (Pres- 
ton, Strand.) 

The  Albion  rondo  is  obviously 
a  composition  intended   for   inci- 
pient practitioners,  and    to    these 
we  may  recommend  it  as  proper 
to  take  its  turn  in  the  course  of 
tuition.      Original  ideas  are   cer- 
tainly not  to  be  met  with  in  the 
progress  of  the  piece,  but  its  com- 
ponent  parts    are   imagined   in    a 
light  and  pleasing  style;  they  arise 
out  of  each  other  in  natural  con- 
nection, and  blend  into  a  regular 
and  satisfactory  whole.    A  respect- 
able andantino  precedes  the  rondo. 
An  Ode  for  three  Voices,  a  Tribute  to 
the  Memory  of  our  late  most  gra- 
cious and  revered  Sovereign  Ki)ig 
George  the  Third;  written  by  F. 
Wyman,  jun.  Esq. ;  composed,  with 
an  Accompaniment  for  the  Piano- 
forte,  and  most  respectfully  dedi- 
G 


42 


MUSICAL    REVIEW 


cated  to  the  Rev.  W.  Everett, 
B.  D.  #c.  8$c.  by  G.  F.  Harris. 
Pr.  5s. 

This  ode,  the  text  of  which  does 
not  rise  above  mediocrity,  is  set 
for  three  voices,  each  of  which  lias 
a  solo  part;  and  between  the  solos, 
the  three  voices  join  in  a  chorus, 
repealed  at  every  recurrence.  The 
whole  of  the  music  claims  our  ap- 
probation ;  it  is  written  with  taste,  j 
proper  feeling,  and  a  judicious  dis-  ' 
crimination  of  the  import  of  the 
text:  the  harmonic  arrangement 
bears  the  stamp  of  purity,  and  is 
in  other  respects  well  devised.  The 
three  solos  exhibit  a  due  diversity 
of  character,  analogous  to  the 
words.  The  first  is  mournfully  so- 
lemn and  pathetic;  the  second,  less 
plaintive,  presents  an  interesting 
cantabile,  supported  by  full  and 
neat  accompaniments,  and  in  the 
bass  solo  a  manly  energy  of  mu- 
sical diction  is  conspicuous.  In 
the  trio  we  observe  several  instan- 
ces of  clever  interlacement  of  parts, 
and  the  bass  voice  fulfils  the  func- 
tions of  its  office  with  effect.  The 
whole  of  this  ode  does  credit  to 
the  composer. 

"  'fake  him  and  try"  a    favourite 
Song,  sung  by  Miss  Holdaway  at 
the  London  Concerts,  8$c. ;  compo- 
sed, with  an  Accompaniment  for 
the   Piano-forte,  by   J.  Monro. 
Pr.  Is.  6d.  (Monro,  Skinner-st.) 
A  little  ballad,  of  artless  simpli- 
city.    The  air  is  lively  and  suita- 
ble to  the  text,  but  presents  no 
feature  of  novelty  to  distinguish  it 
from  many  similar  productions. 
"  Heroes  of  Albion,  in   your  glory 
weep"  the  Poetry  bij  F.  IVyman, 
jun.  Esq.  written  on  the  much  la- 
mented death  of  his  Most  Gracious 
Majesty  George  the  Third;  compo- 


sed, with   an   Accompaniment  for 
the   Piano -forte,   by  J.  Monro. 
Pr.  Is.  6d.   (Monro,  Skinner-st.) 
The  few  lines  devoted   to  this 
text  have  some  merit.    Their  small 
extent  afford ed  but  a  limited  scope 
for  the  display  of  select  thoughts; 
but  the  melody,  short  as  it  is,  pro- 
ceeds in  a  strain   consonant  with 
the  poetry  ;  and   the  accompani- 
ment, although  sufficiently  effec- 
tive, maintains  the  simplicity  which 
the  nature  of  the  subject  rendered 
desirable. 

His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King 
George  the  Fourth's  Grand  March, 
composed,  and  arranged  with  \ Va- 
riations, by  J.  Monro.  Pr.  2s. 
(Monro,  Skinner-street.) 
After  composing  the  foregoing 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  his  de- 
parted sovereign,  Mr.  M.  with 
equitable  loyalty,  and  in  the  spirit 
of  the  maxim,  "  the  king  never 
dies,1'  presents  his  successor  with 
a  grand  march  and  six  variations. 
Loyalty,  under  any  form,  is  wel- 
come to  us  in  these  times;  but,  in- 
dependently of  any  bias  in  favour 
of  the  motive  of  Mr.  Monro's  effu- 
sion, we  should  have  given  it  our 
approbation  on  the  score  of  intrin- 
sic value.  The  march  theme,  is 
well  proportioned,  regular,  and 
energetic,  as  these  pieces  should 
be  ;  and  its  simplicity  affords  pro- 
per latitude  for  the  variations. 
These  latter  will  be  found  to  be 
duly  diversified,  and  conceived  in 
pood  style.  In  the  first,  the  sub- 
ject is  well  allotted  to  the  left  hand  ; 
in  the  second  variation,  the  imita- 
tive passages  between  both  hands 
are  very  satisfactory.  The  third 
represents  the  subject  in  -|  time, 
alia  fanfare;  the  fourth  moulds  it- 
self with  ease  into   a  neat  walta  ; 


VIRW    OF   TIi;:    [SOLA    BELLA,   TAKEN    FROM    STRESA. 


43 


and  the  fifth  appears  to  advantage 

in  Polish  costume;  but  it  impro- 
perly deviates  from  the  very  mark- 
ed characteristic  of  the  Polonoisc, 
in  throwing  the  caesura,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  parts,  on  the  accent- 
ed portion  of  the  bar.  The  reverse  I 
ought  to  have  been  the  case. 

The  whole  of  this   composition  ] 
is  written  with  propriety,  and  due  j 
attention   to  execution.     It  is  not 
difficult,  and  is  well  calculated  for 
moderate  proficients. 

The  title-page  exhibits  a  por- 
trait of  his  Majesty,  which  appears 
to  us  a  very  good  likeness. 
"  The  Farewell,"  a  Duct,  from  "  The 
Emigrant's  Return,"  and  other  Po-* 
ems,  written,  and  composed  with  fin 
Accompaniment  for  the  Harp  or 
Piano-forte,  by   J.  M.  Bartlett. 
Pr.  2s.     (Power,  Strand.) 
How  the  text  of  this  little  duet 
can  be  said  to  be  from  "The  Emi- 
grant's Return,"  and  other  poems, 
we  are  at  a  loss  to  conceive.     The 
melody  is  pleasing  enough   upon 
the  whole,  and  bespeaks  a  degree 
of   natural   lyric   talent;   but   the 
harmonic  arrangement  shews  clear- 
ly, that  the  gift  of  nature  has  not 
had  adequate  aid  from  the  hand  of 
science.     We  perceive   consider- 
able transgressions  of  the  lav  s  of 
harmony.     In  the  very  first  line, 
glaring  errors  occur :  instead  of  the 
extreme  sixth  D  b>  B,  Mr.  Bart- 
lett  writes    the    seventh  C*,  B ; 
and   in  the  fifth  bar,  we  observe 
some  further  strange  combinations. 
Sound  theory  is  the  ground-work 
of  all  the  fine  arts,  and  in  music 


it  is  perhaps  least  to  be  dispensed 
with  ;  because  music   is  not,    like 
painting    or  sculpture,  an    art    of 
imitation,  but  one  which  owes  its 
whole  being    to    human    intellect. 
Man  has  entirely  created  the  art. 
"  Ah!  tell  me  no  more, my  dear  Girl" 
Canzonet,  with  an  Accompaniment 
for  the  Piano-forte;  the  Words  bt/ 
Dr.  Walcot ;  composed,  and  inscrib- 
ed to  Miss  Hanson,  by  W.  Beale, 
Gentleman    of    II.    M.     Chapel 
Royal.      Pr.  Is.  6d.  —  (Birchall 
and  Co.) 

The  language  and  import  of  this 
text  do  not  appear  to  us  favourable 
to  musical  treatment.  The  words 
are  frequently  dry  and  prosaic, 
and  in  the  sentiments  there  is  too 
much  point  and  epigrammatic  con- 
ceit. Simplicity  is  an  indispensa- 
ble requisite  in  poetry  to  be  select- 
ed for  composition.  To  this  cause, 
we  apprehend,  it  is  to  be  ascribed, 
that  Mr.  B.'s  melody  to  this  canzo- 
net is  rather  of  a  cold,  dry  charac- 
ter. The  harmonic  arrangement 
claims  our  decided  approbation  ; 
it  is  written  with  great  skill,  replete 
with  fanciful  variety,  and  has  instan- 
ces of  ingenious  contrapuntal  ma- 
nagement. The  intervening  instru- 
mental symphonies  are  in  good 
style;  an  effective  and  interesting 
bass  accompaniment  occurs  in  p.  3, 
and  the  subject  is  well  transferred 
into  a  minor  key,  p.  4.  In  short, 
the  wholeofthiscanzonet,  theprice 
of  which  appears  to  us  extremely 
moderate,  exhibits  Mr.  B.'s  talent 
as  a  harmonist  to  great  advantage. 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR  OF  MOUNT  SIMPLON. 

PLATE   2. — VIEW    OF   THE    1SOLA    RftLLA,   TAKKN    PROM    STRESA. 
The  road  from  Baveno  to  Stresa  II  enriched  by  beautiful  views.     The 
affords  a  very  agreeable    prome-  'J  shores  of  the  lake,  forming  differ- 
nade,    shaded   by  fine   trees,   and     ent  gulphs,  or  advancing  in  pro- 


44 


VIEW    OF   THE    ISOLA    BELLA,   TAKEN    FROM    STUESA. 


montories,  discover  the  Borromean 
Isles  in  various  points  of  view. 

A  garden  resembling  the  Isola 
Bella  would  always  produce  a  strik- 
ing effect;  but  the  arches,  the 
terraces  covered  with  orange-trees, 
the  pyramid  of  verdure  which  ri- 
ses from  the  bosom  of  the  waters, 
the  statues  which  are  reflected  in 
them,  the  lake  adorned  by  nature 
with  all  that  is  most  enchanting, 
the  hills  which  surround  it  clothed 
with  vines  and  chesnuts,the  moun- 
tains in  the  distance  crowned  with 
perpetual  snows;  altogether  pro- 
duce akind  of  magical  effect,  which 
can  no  where  else  be  found. 

A  house  of  entertainment  for 
visitors  was  established  upon  the 
Isola  Bella  in  1802.  In  former 
times  it  was  nothing  but  a  mass  of 
rude  and  barren  rock,  but  Prince 
Vital iano  Borromeo  caused  it  to 
be  covered  with  earth  in  1671,  and 
by  cultivation,  and  at  an  enor- 
mous expense,  gave  to  it  much  of 
that  beautiful  appearance  which  it 
bears  at  present.  The  family  of 
Borromeo  has  possessed  this  and 
other  islands  in  Lake  Major,  as 
well  as  nearly  the  whole  country 
bordering  it,  since  the  13th  centu- 
ry :  it  is  held  as  a  fief  under  the 
Dukes  of  Milan. 

The  terraces  on  the  Isola  Bella 
are  seven  in  number,  rising  one 
above  the  other,  as  represented  in 
our  view,  the  highest  being  120 
feet  above  the  surface  of  the  lake. 
At  the  top  is  a  Pegasus,  as  a  finish 
to  the  whole,  and  giving  to  the 
island  the  appearance  of  a  pyramid 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  approach 
it  from  the  eastern  side.  Towards 
the  west,  the  traveller  sees  rising 
from  the  bosom  of  the  lake  a  vast 
palace,  not  yet  finished,   and  the 


architect  has  placed  upon  one  part 
of  it  the  following  inscription,  ad- 
verting to  the  change  produced  in 
the  soil  and  appearance  of  the 
island  by  Vitaliano  Borromeo: 
"  Vital.  Borromeo,  iiiformibus  sco- 
pulis  substruens  et  exstruens  dignita- 
tem otiis,  majestatem  deliciis  compa- 
rabatr  The  ground-floor  of  this 
structure  is  ornamented  by  mosa- 
ics, and  the  walls  are  made  to  re- 
semble a  natural  grotto.  Some 
beautiful  copies  from  the  antique 
in  marble  are  also  found  here,  as 
well  as  an  original  and  much-va- 
lued bust  of  Achilles,  and  a  dol- 
phin which  throws  water  through  a 
vast  conch.  The  other  apartments 
are  decorated  by  the  works  of  Lu- 
ca  Giordano,  Procaccini,  Schi- 
doni,  Titian,  Le  Brun,  and  Tem- 
pesta,  a  painter  of  landscapes,  who, 
after  having  murdered  his  first 
wife  for  the  sake  of  marrying  a 
more  beautiful  woman,  was  ba- 
nished to  this  island.  The  whole 
island  is  covered  with  clusters  of 
orange  and  citron  trees,  pomegra- 
nates, cedars,  laurels,  olive-trees, 
cypress-trees,  vines,  roses,  and  jes- 
samines ;  besides  being  filled  with 
fountains,  statues,  and  other  works 
of  art.  Orange  and  citron  trees 
flourish  here  as  vigorously  and 
beautifully  as  at  Naples,  and  the 
trunks  are  nearly  a  foot  in  diame- 
ter. In  the  orange-groves,  co- 
vered at  the  same  time  with  fruit 
and  flowers,  is  seen  the  vine  load- 
ed with  grapes,  and  decorated  by 
the  insinuating  buds  of  roses  and 
jessamine.  Here  alsogrows  aspe- 
cies  of  large  citron,  nearly  a  foot 
in  length,  and  about  eight  inches 
in  diameter.  During  the  two 
blooming  seasons,  the  perfumes  of 
this  garden   extend  far  over    the 


JSIilTISU   INSTITUTION. 


45 


surface  of  the  lake,  and  especially 
in  the  morning',  insensibly  draw- 
ing the  traveller  to  the  spot. 

The  village  of  Stresa  forms  the 
fore-ground  of  this  picture.  The 
chapels  contribute  greatly  to  give  j! 
an  interest  to  the  appearance  of 
the  country:  most  of  them,  even 
those  of  the  villages,  are  construct- 


ed with  taste,  and  in  good  propor- 
tions. On  entering  them,  you  are 
surprised  by  their  richness,  and 
the  number  of  pictures  which 
adorn  them :  they  are  generally 
copies  from  good  masters,  or  if  they 
are  originals,  they  have  a  touch  of 
the  soil  of  Italy,  and  are  better 
than  in  other  parts  of  Europe. 


FINE  ARTS. 
■  >»< 

BRITISH  INSTITUTION. 


THE  Directors  of  the  British 
Institution  have,  with  their  unceas- 
ing: zeal  to  render  the  fine  arts 
popular  as  well  as  fashionable  in 
this  country,  adopted,  during  the 
last  month,  a  novel  expedient  to 
create  fresh  interest  for  their  Ex- 
hibitions. They  have  opened  a 
gallery  wholly  of  portraits,  and 
presenting  a  series  of  examples 
from  the  origin  of  painting  in  this 
country,  down  to  our  times,  in 
which  this  department  of  art  has 
been  brought  to  such  consummate 
perfection.  This  Exhibition  shews 
the  progressive  march  of  art  among 
us,  from  its  cradle  to  its  present 
state  of  maturity.  We  have  the 
early  portraits  with  a  flat  and  dead 
outline  of  features,  though  with  now 
and  then  some  streamingtouches  of 
glowing  colour ;  and  then  the  more 
ornamental  style,  as  we  see  it  deve- 
loped in  the  works  that  have  come 
to  light  during  the  repairs  of  St. 
Stephen's  Chapel  and  the  Painted 
Chamber.  From  that  period  the 
art  seems  to  have  crept  on  in  a 
monotonous  course,  until  Holbein 
gave  it  a  little  more  of  the  force 
and  expression  of  nature,  still  li- 


miting its  display  to  the  develope- 
ment  of  linear  perspective.  This 
was  the  state  of  art  in  England  un- 
til Vandyke  redeemed  it  by  the 
grandeur  of  his  pencil,  and  shew- 
ed the  great  powers  of  which  it 
was  susceptible,  leaving  upon  re- 
cord, together  with  Rubens,  works 
which  still  adorn  the  country,  and 
remain  as  a  standard  of  taste  and 
skill  for  the  imitation  of  their  suc- 
cessors. 

The  Directors  of  the  British  In- 
stitution have  prefixed  to  their  Ca- 
talogue the  reasons  which  influen- 
ced them  in  preparing  the  present 
Exhibition  ;  and  though  we  are  not 
aware  that  this  explanation  was  ne- 
cessary, yet  it  shews  a  becoming 
and  polite  deference  to  public  opi- 
nion, to  set  out  with  giving  it, 
when  the  Exhibition  partook  of  a 
novel  character.  The  directors 
say  with  truth,  that,  to  shew  the 
comparative  degree  of  excellence 
to  which  the  art  of  painting  has 
arrived  in  this  country  at  different 
periods,  and  to  exhibit  the  por- 
traits of  many  of  the  most  eminent 
men  who  have  flourished  amongst 
us,  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting  to 


46 


BRITISH    INSTITUTION 


ihe  artist,  the  historian,  and  the 
public  at  large. 

In  submitting  this  collection  to 
the  inspection  of  the  public,  they 
do  not  profess  to  exhibit  the  por- 
traits of  all  the  eminent  men  who 
have  distinguished  themselves  in 
the  annals  of  British  history.  The 
principles  they  have  kept  in  view, 
in  making  this  selection,  havebeen, 
first,  the  celebrity  of  the  indivi- 
dual who  is  represented  ;  and,  se- 
condly, the  excellence  of  the 
painting  itself. 

They  state  their  object  in  form- 
ing  the  collection  to  have  been,  to 
interest,  rather  than  to  instruct. 
They  attempt  to  guide  the  artist 
no  further  than  to  oiler  for  his  ob- 
servation, from  time  to  time,  spe- 
cimens, from  which  they  think  he 
may  derive  improvement — the  rest 
depends  upon  himself.  Their  pur- 
pose is  to  extend  to  a  wider  circle 
the  love  and  admiration  and  pa- 
tronage of  the  arts:  if  they  suc- 
ceed in  this  attempt,  they  advance 
the  cause  they  have  undertaken. 

The  directors  also  state,  that,  to 
increase  the  number  of  such  admi- 
rers,  is  the  great  object  of  the 
British  Institution  :  they  hope  their 
endeavours  have  not  been  exerted 
in  vain.  No  person  of  liberal  and 
enlightened  mind  can  doubt  the 
use  and  the  importance  of  encou- 
raging the  cultivation  of  the  arts. 
They  are  connected  not  only  with 
the  comforts  and  amusements  of 
polished  society,  but  with  the  ge- 
neral interests  of  the  nation  ;  and 
the}'  entertain  the  hope,  that  the 
same  energy  of  mind  which  cha- 
racterizes our  countrymen,  and 
which  raised  the  glory  of  our  arms 
to  its  highest  elevation  in  the  late 
war,  may  carry  the  improvement 


j  of  our  arts  to  the  same  degree  of 
!  pre-eminence  during  the  interval 
i  of  peace. 

That  the  Directors  of  the  British 

;  Institution    have    eminently    suc- 

!  ceeded  in  cultivating  and  improv- 

:  ing  the  public  taste,  we  have  every 

day  striking  instances,  in  the  ins 

creasing  popularity  of  exhibitions 

of  works  of  art,  and  in  the  growing 

patronage  of  our  artists. 

The  present  Exhibition  con- 
sists of  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
three  portraits.  There  are  also  a 
few  busts.  We  give  the  names  of 
the  artists  by  whom  they  are  chiefly 
painted,  in  the  chronological  order 
assigned  to  them  in  the  most  im- 
proved edition  of  Pilkington  ;  pre- 
mising, that  of  many  of  the  por- 
traits there  are  no  traces  of  the 
artists,  and  the  style  denotes  the 
very  infancy  of  the  art;  such,  for 
instance,  as  in  his  Majestv's  early 
portraits  of  some  of  our  kings. 
The  following  are  the  names  of  the 
principal  artists  :  John  de  Mabuse, 
Holbein,  Uemce,  Zucchero,  More, 
Pourbus,  Jansen,  Lucas  de  Heere, 
Rubens,  Vandyke,  Dobson,  Hont- 
horst,  Zoust,  Hanneman,  Walker, 
\\  issing,  Murray,  Netcher,  Lely, 
Kneller,  Hogarth,  Ramsay,  Dance, 
Hudson,  Reynolds,  Copley,  Shee- 
maker,  Roubilliac,  Bacon,  Hopp- 
ner,  and  a  number  of  other  artists, 
whose  works  havebeen  lonu  known 
and  esteemed  in  England. 

The  finest  portrait  in  this  col- 
lection is, 

King  Charles  I.  on  Horseback,  at- 
tended b}i  M.  de  St.   dntoine,  one 
of  his  Equerries. — Vandyke. 
The  mild  and  dignified  expres- 
sion  of    the   monarch    was   never 
conveyed  in  a  more  striking  man- 
ner,  than    in   this  picture. — The 


BRITISH    INSTITUTION. 


47 


horse  is  inimitably  drawn,  and  II  swa\  of  Vandyke's  pencil.  After 
the  tone  ot*  colouring  finely  cha-  I1  the  demise  of  this  celebrated  art- 
racteristic  of  the  grandeur  of  the    ist,  we  find  portrait-painting  be- 

subject.  If  we  mistake  not,  this  corning  again  provokingly  feeble, 
is  the  celebrated  portrait  from  and  dwindling  into  decay  under 
Hampton-Court,  and  it  has  long  the  mannerism  of  Kneller  and 
been  a  matter  of  dispute,  whether  Lely.  They  had  still,  however, 
this,  or  the  portrait  at  Blenheim,  caught  enough  of  the  geniu-  of 
is  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  Vandyke.  ,  Vandyke,  to  prevent  its  utter  de- 
There  are  several  other  portraits  cline;  and  the  vanity  of  the  age, 
by  this  great  artist  in  the  gallery,  \  which  then,  as  now,  was  common, 


remarkable  for  the  fine  air  and  ex- 
pression he  could  impart  to  his  sub- 


and  we  may  add,  excusable  in  our 
nature,  furnishing  them  with  many 


jects,  and  the  character  which  be  j  opportunities  of  improving  their 
first  stamped  upon  portrait-paint-  j  style,  they  occasionally  produced 
ing  in  this  country.  j  works,  which  fed  the  taste  of  their 

Hairy    I  [II.  with  Jane    Seymour,^  times,and  preserved  sufficient  spe- 
their  Son  Prince  Edward,  and  the\  cimens  in  this  branch   of  art,   to 
Princesses    Mary   and    Margaret,  \  excite  the  emulation  of  a  long  line 
Sisters  of  the  King. — Holbein.       jj  of  artists,  and  bring  it  down  to  our 
This    picture    conveys   a    good  '!  own  times,  when   Sir  Joshua  Key- 
idea   of   the    state  of   art    in    this  |  nolds  again   asserted  its  claim   to 
country  in   the    16th  century.     It  j  high    excellence   and    encourage- 
is  fuil  of  laborious  detail  :  it  dis- 
plays a  fuil  knowledge  of  linear 
perspective;  but  in  the  grand  prin- 
ciples of  art,  in  natural  character 


|  inent,  and   redeemed   it  from  the 

j  cold    listlessness    under    which   it 

i  languished   for  the  better  part  of 

the    previous    century.       Of    the 

and   effect,   it  is  greatly   deficient.  I  style  of  Reynolds  and   bis  cotem- 


The  attitudes  are  stiff  and  con- 
strained, and  the  general  arrange- 
ment formally  artificial.  The  por- 
trait of  William  Somers,  the  jest- 
er of  King  Henry  VIII.  shews, 
however,  that  Holbein  had  a  deep 
knowledge  of  man)-  of  the  true 
principles  of  art;  it  has  consider- 


poraries,  there  are  some  excellent 
specimens  in  the  British  Institu- 
tion, and  they  derive  no  small  por- 
tion of  additional  though  accident- 
al interest,  from  the  circumstance 
of  the  portraits  being  intended  to 
represent  some  of  the  most  dist'm- 
,  guished  personages  who   have   fi- 


able  depth,  and  much  of  the  truth  gured  in  modern  times.  We  be- 
of  nature.  Into  the  merits  of  the  come  as  it  were  familiarized  with 
other   portraits    of"  this    date,    we     the  features,  as  we  have  hitherto 


have  not  room  to  enter,  nor  indeed 
is  it  necessary,  for  the  artist  will 
at  once  see  the  feeble  state  in  which 
the  art  of  portrait-painting  then 
stood  in  England,  and  the  little  pro- 
spect it  held  out  of  the  approach- 
ing splendour  which  that  art  was 
destined  to  shed  under  the  noble 


been  with  the  genius  and  actions, 
of  the  greatest  statesmen,  war- 
riors, and  poets,  who  have  adorned 
our  annals.  We  trace  their  men- 
tal energies  with  an  inquisitive  eye, 
as  the  artist  has  given  us  the  linea- 
ments of  their  features,  from  the 
innocent   and   ingrenuous  <dow   of 


48 


m.  jkrricault's  large  picture. 


youth,  up  ta  the  mature  develope- 
ment  of  thought  and  manhood.  In 
this  view,  the  present  Exhibition 
cannot  fail  to  be  popular,  and  the 
votary  of  Spurzeim  has  a  bound- 
less field  to  range  in.  In  the  dig- 
nified and  contemplative  glance  of 
King  Charles,  he  can,  with  pro- 
phetic sagacity,  divine  the  resig- 
nation which  marked  his  character 
under  the  reverses  of  fortune.  In 
the  broken  and  coarse  lines  of 
Cromwell's  obtruding  forehead,  he 
can  trace  the  tempestuous  and 
boisterous  counsels  of  his  mind. 
In  the  keen  and  penetrating  glance 
of  Pope,  he  can  discern  the  sati- 


rical genius  of  the  poet.  So  far 
the  pupil  of  the  physiognomist  can. 
feed  his  fancy;  but  again  he  must 
be  prepared  to  encounter  the  scep- 
ticism of  his  dogmatic  opponent, 
who  points  to  the  mild  features  of 
Judge  Jefferies,  and  asks,  Where 
are  the  traces  indicative  of  the  cruel 
and  relentless  disposition  of  the 
man?  We  leave  the  contending 
parties  to  decide  the  supremacy  of 
the  doctrine  among  themselves, 
and  congratulate  the  public  on  the 
pains  taken  by  the  Directors  of  the 
British  Institution  to  administer 
to  their  gratification  in  so  pleasing 
a  manner. 


M.  JERRICAULT'S  LARGE  PICTURE. 


There  is  now  exhibiting  at  Mr.  , 
Bullock's  Egyptian  Hall,  Picca-  i 
dilly,  a  large  picture  representing 
the  surviving  Crew  of  the  Medusa  j 
French  frigate,  on  the  raft,  which 
saved  15  out  of  150  of  them  after 
the  shipwreck,  painted  by  M.  Jer- 
ricault,  a  French  artist  of  promise. 
This  picture  was  in  the  last  year's 
Exhibition  at  the  Louvre.  Our 
readers  will  perhaps  recollect,  for 
it  has  been  recorded  in  one  or  two 
publications  that  reached  us  from 
the  Continent,  the  dreadful  inci- 
dent from  which  this  picture  is 
taken,  and  which  exceeds  in  hor- 
ror an}'  narrative  of  human  suffer- 
ings recorded  in  our  annals  of  ship- 
wreck. 

The  Medusa,  a  frigate  of  44 
guns,  was  sent  out  in  1816,  by  the 
French  government, after  the  peace, 
to  take  possession  of  territory  on 
the  west  coast  of  Africa,  between 
Cape  Bianco  and  the  Gambia.  She 
was  by  some  mismanagement  suf- 
fered to  run  aground  on  the  bank 


of  Anguin,  when  it  was  soon  found 
that  no  chance  remained  of  saving 
the  vessel.  Measures  were  then 
concerted  for  the  safety  of  the  pas- 
sengers and  crew,  about  450  in 
number.  Some  biscuit,  wine,  and 
fresh  water  were  accordingly  got 
up,  and  prepared  for  putting  into 
the  boats,  and  upon  a  raft,  which 
had  been  hastily  constructed  dur- 
ing the  tumult  of  abandoning  the 
wreck;  and  ithappened  that,  though 
destined  to  carry  the  greatest  num- 
ber of  people,  it  had  the  least 
share  of  provisions.  Upon  this 
raft,  loosely  put  together  in  the 
hurry  of  the  moment,  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  persons  embarked, 
and  in  the  confusion  had  onlj-  pro- 
vided themselves  with  a  little  wine  : 
they  had  no  water,  no  solid  pro- 
visions. There  were  five  boats, 
and  it  was  originally  intended  that 
they  should  tow  the  raft  until  they 
had  conducted  it  to  land.  They 
had  not,  however,  proceeded  more 
than  two  leagues  from  the  wreck, 


M.  JI.UHK  ALI.T'S    LARGS     PICTUHH 


49 


when  one  by  one  they  cast  off  their  at  such  a  moment  the  despair  which 
towing-lines,  and  abandoned  it  to  |  seemed  to  absorb  the  faculties  of 
its  fate.  The  consternation,  on  '  his  friend.  Behind  them  is  a  - 
this  abandonment,  soon  became  gro  supporting  a  young  seaman, 
extreme;  the  raft  had  now  sunk  who,  staggering  in  the  delirium  of 
three  feet  and  a  half  below  the  his  jay,  is  in  danger  of  falling 
surface  of  the  water,  owing  to  the  overboard.  On  the  left  of  the  mast 
weight  of  the  persons  upon  it,  and  '\  are  two  figures,  who  do  not  yetpar- 
every  thing  indicated  that  their  I  ticipate  in  the  ecstasy  of  their  corn- 
destruction  was  inevitable:  the  of-  ;l  panions  :  the  attitude  of  one  of 
ficers  had  succeeded  in  calming  ;  them  betrays  the  deepest  despair; 
the  men  to  a  certain  degree,  but  j  while  the  features  of  the  other  are 
were  themselves  overcome  with  fixed  in  the  vacant  gaze  of  insane 
alarm  on  discovering  that  there  rapture.  On  the  right  and  nearer 
was  neither  chart,  nor  compass,  the  front  of  the  picture,  is  a  figure 
nor  anchor  on  the  raft!  Of  the  150  covered  with  a  piece  of  sail-cloth, 
persons  who  sought  safety  on  this     still  stained  with  the  1 


raft,  only  15  remained  alive  on  the 
morning  of  the  thirteenth  day! 
Over  the  scenes  of  horror  which 
occurred  on  this  raft,  owing  to  the 
delirium  and  despair  of  the  wretch- 


wounds  he  received  in  the  conflict 
which  took  place  the  two  first  nights 
thev  passed  on  the  raft;  he  c. 
to  the  clothes  of  Lavalette,  who  is 
in  front  of  him,  and  is  supporting 


ed  sufferers,  humanity  must  draw  a  !  a  seaman,  who,  baring  succeeded 
veil.  On  the  thirteenth  day,  a  j  in  mounting  on  a  cask,  is  en 
vessel  (the  Argus  from  St.  Louis)  \  vouring  to  attract  the  notice  of  the 
hove  in  sight,  and  the  time  taken  !  brig  by  waving  die  remnant  of  an 
by  the  artist  for  his  picture,  is  the  j  ensign:  another  seaman,  leaning 
moment  when    hope   for  the  first    against  the  cask,  is  also  making 


oais.     At  the  extreme  left  c: 
fore-ground,  is  the  b  sol- 

dier lying  dead  upon  his  arms; 
near  him  a  young  man  has  just  ex- 
pired in  the  arms  of  his  aged  fa- 
ther, the  violence  of  whose  parental 
<:  o-rief  renders  him  insensible  to  the 


time  dawns  on  the  victims  of  so 
much  misery.  The  time  being  na- 
turally calculated  to  convey  much 
conflicting  expression,  the  artist 
imposed  upon  himself  a  task  of 
great  difficulty.  The  following 
are  the  details  of  his  picture: 

In  the  centre  of  the  picture  'j  joyful  tidings  which  wholly  engross 
stands  M.  Savigny,  the  surgeon,  in  the  rest.  On  the  right  of  the  pic- 
his  uniform;  he  leans  against  the  ture,  several  figures  are  seen  ea- 
mast;  his  look  is  resigned,  and  in-  gerly  pressing  to  the  edge  of  the 
dicates  that  he  had  scarcely  a  hope  raft;  near  them  is  a  dead  Negro, 
of  being  saved:  his  friend  Cone-  and  quite  in  the  front  a  half-naked 
ard  takes  him  by  the  arm,  and  en-  J  corpse,  which  the  sea  is  impercep- 
deavours  to  inspire  him  with  a  feel-  ',  tibly  washing  into  the  deep:  some 
ing  of  confidence,  which  he  bins-  jments   of  arms   and    uniforms 

self'  but    faintly    entertains:    art  j  strewed  upon  the  planks,  indicate 
has  fully  traced  in  his  features  his!   that   the  number  cf  the  crew  had 
distressful   anxietv    on   witnessing     been  greater,  and  that  death  had 
VoLX.  Nv.LV.  H 


50 


INTELLIGENCE    REGARDING    WORKS   OT   ART. 


reduced  to  1.5,  the  150  living  crea- 
tures who  embarked  upon  the  raft. 
The  chief  merit  which  M.  Jer- 
ricault  displays  in  this  picture,  is 
his  skill  in  drawing;  he  developes 
much  of  the  anatomy  of  nature, 
with  occasionally  a  little  more  of 
affectation  than  belongs  to  it,  and 
which  partakes  of  the  stiff  forma- 
lity of  Poussin.  The  dead  Negro 
is  admirably  executed  ;  and  the 
old  man  in  despair  is  a  fine  per- 
sonification of  the  extreme  of  hu- 
man misery.  The  grouping  is  well 
attended  to,  and  the  general  ar- 
rangement of  the  details  calculated 
to  produce  the  best  effect.  The 
sea  view,  such  as  it  is,  is  not  defi- 
cient in  grandeur;  hut  where  the 
artist  has  failed,  is,  we  think,  in  the 
colouring.  We  are  aware,  that 
the  subject  excluded  the  charms 
and  embellishments  which  colours 
are  so  well  calculated  to  impart, 
but  it  certainly  did  not  so  utterly 
proscribe   them    as  the    artist  has 


done  in  this  picture.  It  is  in  this 
respect,  cold,  hard,  and  repulsive; 
and  the  shadows,  in  some  instan- 
ces, if  not  badly,  at  least  too  for- 
cibly cast,  so  as  to  have  a  constrain- 
ed effect.  The  foreshortening  is 
also  incorrect  in  one  or  two  of  the 
figures.  The  artist  deserves  great 
credit  for  his  composition,  and  for 
the  appropriate  manner  in  which 
he  conveys  the  representation  of  a 
very  difficult  suhject,  though  the 
effect  is  in  some  degree  diminished 
by  the  imperfections  to  which  we 
allude. 

Mr.  Bullock  seems  to  have  made 
the  Egyptian  Hall  an  emporium 
for  the  rising  school  of  French 
art;  and  the  repeated  exhibition 
of  its  productions,  is  presumptive 
evidence  of  the  fair  and  candid  en- 
couragement we  afford  to  our  Con- 
tinental neighbours.  This  inter- 
change of  good  works  at  home  and 
abroad,  cannot  fail  to  be  mutually 
advantageous. 


INTELLIGENCE  REGARDING  WORKS  OF  ART. 

COMPLETION    OF    Tm:     GREAT     METALLIC     VASE    AT     MR.    THOMASON's 
MAN  V  FA  C  TO  R  V ,    BI  It  M I N  G 1 1 A  M . 

THE  public  are  indebted  to  the     the  chisel  of  Lysippus,  the  perpe- 


late  Sir  William  Hamilton  for  the 
beautiful  collection  of  antique  va- 


tual  boast  of  ancient  taste. 

Our  school    of    sculpture,    both 


ses  which  enrich  the  specimens  of  '  marble  and  metallic,  is  making  a 
antiquity  in  the  mansions  of  our  brilliant  progress:  much  science 
nobility  and   gentry;    and  having     and  taste,  however,  are  necessary, 


less  pleasure  in  the  possession  of 
these  treasures,  than  in  gratifying 
the  good  taste  of  his  countrymen 
in  making  them  public,  he  distri- 
buted them  with  a  most  liberal 
hand  to  those  who  felt  their  beau- 
t}-,  and  appreciated  their  import- 
ance: hence  he  presented  to  the 
late  Earl  of  Warwick  the  chef-. 
cfauvre   of  Grecian    sculpture   by 


from  obvious  circumstances,  to  sue-- 
ceed  in  the  latter;  and  we  have  the 
satisfaction  to  record  the  comple- 
tion of  the  most  splendid  effect  of 
metallic  sculpture  that  has  ever  ap- 
peared, in  its  style,  in  this  or  any 
other  country. 

Our  ingenious  countryman,  Mr. 
Thomason  of  Birmingham,  con- 
ceived the  noble  idea  of  making  a 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


5\ 


fac-simile  of  this  great  vase  en- 
tirely of  metal,  and  with  that  spi- 
rit and  genius  so  conspicuous  in 
his  numerous  productions  at  his  ex- 
tensive manufactory,  has  achieved 
this  most  magnificent  trihute  to 
the  arts,  and  with  a  liberality  wor- 
thy of  the  occasion,  placed  it  at 
his  establishment  in  a  room  admi- 
rably adapted  for  its  reception, 
permitting  amateurs  the  opportu- 
nity of  viewing  it. 

This  stupendous  undertaking  was 
begun  in  the  54th  year  of  the  reign 
of  King  George  the  Third,  and  is 
now  completed.  Twohundred  and 
eleven  medals  of  different  subjects, 
including  one  of  King  George  the 
Fourth,  all  made  at  the  manufac- 
tory, were  sealed  up  in  an  antique 
urn,  and  deposited  in  the  centre 
of  the  pedestal  upon  which  the 
vase  was  raised,  by  the  efforts  of 
about  fifty  of  the  workmen,  in  ce- 
lebration of  his  present  Majesty's 
accession  to  the  throne. 

The  character  and  history  of  the 
Warwick  vase  are  so  generally 
known,  that  we  shall  confine  our- 
selves to  the  description  of  the 
metallic  one. 

In  1814,  the  late  Earl  of  War- 
wick, who  liberally  patronised  the 
fine  arts,  permitted  Mr.  Thomason 
and  his  artists  to  have  free  access 
to  the  original  vase,  to  model  it 
in  wax,  which  occupied  several 
months;  from  these  models,  casts 
were  made  in  lead,  to  serve  as  pat- 
terns to  form  the  whole,  which 
whole  is  made  in  two  distinct  me- 


tals; the  field  being  of  one  me- 
tal; and  the  handles,  vines,  m 
;  panther-skins,  and  leaves,  com- 
posed of  another.  This  original 
thought  gave  Mr.  Thomason  the 
opportunity  of  adopting  two  novel 
modes  of  oxidation,  thereby  pro- 
ducing the  most  beautiful  effect  of 
light  and  shade;  the  oxidating  of 
the  field  being  accomplished  by  a 
combination  of  the  sulphates  and 
nitrates  urged  on  by  powerful  heat, 
which  has  produced  the  desired 
appearance  of  the  rouge  antique 
marble.  The  masks,  handles,  and 
parts  in  relief,  are  oxidated  by  the 
acetates,  and  resemble  the  real  an- 
tique bronze.  The  harmony  of  these 
two  colours  is  at  once  grand  and 
imposing. 

This  vase  being  made  of  impe- 
rishable materials,  will  not  only  re- 
cord and  perpetuate  the  fame  of 
our  country,  but  immortalize  the 
name  of  Mr.  Thomason.  It  is  to 
such  geniuses  that  we  are  indebted, 
who  neither  spare  time  nor  expense 
to  raise  the  glory  of  their  country. 
It  affords  a  true  pledge,  that  a  ra- 
pid improvement  of  taste  has  taken 
root  in  the  great  manufacturing 
town  of  Birmingham,  and  that 
whilst  emulation  is  excited  by  such 
public-spirited  characters  as  the 
proprietor  of  this  celebrated  ma- 
nufactory, we  need  not  apprehend 
being  surpassed  in  fine  and  clas- 
sical workmanship  by  our  compe- 
titors abroad. 

This  vase  is  21  feet  in  circum- 
ference, and  weighs  several  tons. 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON  FASHIONS. 

platt:  4. — walking  DRESS.        |j  ther  long:  it  is  finished  at  thebet- 

A  cambric  muslin  round  dress;  ll  torn  by  a  deep  flounce  disposed  in 

the  skirt  moderately  full,  and  ra-  |j  large  plait:-,  and  headed  by  a  num- 


52 


LONDON   FASHIONS. 


ber  of  tucks,  which  reach  nearly 
to  the  knee.     The  body  is  high; 
it  is  tight  to  the  shape,  and  is  orna- 
mented round  the  bust  with  a  pro- 
fusion  of  tucks,  which  are  made 
as  small  as  possible,  and  disposed 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  have  some- 
thing of  the  appearance  of  a  pe- 
lerine.    Long  sleeve,  rather  tight 
to  the  arm,  surmounted  by  a  very 
small   epaulette,   which  is  rather 
shallow  in  front  of  the  arm,  and 
deep  behind  ;  it  is  finished  by  four 
small  tucks.     The   bottom  of  the 
sleeve,  which  falls  very  far  over  the 
hand,  is  also  tucked  to  correspond. 
The  spencer  worn  with  this  dress 
is  composed  of  dove-coloured  sole 
de  Londres,  and  trimmed  with  rose- 
coloured   zephyrine:    the   waist  is 
the  usual  length;  it  is  tight  to  the 
shape,  and  is  finished  behind  by  a 
short  full  jacket,  divided  into  three 
scollops,  which  are  edged  and  lin- 
ed  with   rose-coloured   zephyrine. 
Long  sleeve,  of  a  moderate  width; 
epaulette  plain    on  the  shoulder, 
and  ornamented  at  the  bottom  with 
dove-coloured  satin  Spanish  puffs. 
The  spencer  has  no  collar,  but  it 
is  finished  at  the  throat  by  a  large 
cape,  lined  and  edged  with,  zephyr  - 
it, e;    it   is    rounded,    and   reaches 
nearly    to  the   shoulders.  -  Head- 
dress, a  bonnet  composed  of  rose- 
coloured  metallic  gauze:  the  brim 
is  large,  and  of  a  singular  but  be- 
coming shape;  it  is  finished  at  the 
edge  by  a  double  band  of  bias  pink 
crape;  it  is  rounded  at  the  corners, 
and  is  ornamented   in  the  middle 
by  a  deep  point  looped  back;  in 
the  division  made  by  the  insertion 
of  the  point  is  placed  a  small  bou- 
quet, composed  of  grass  and  rose- 
buds.    The  crown  is  low;  is  some- 
thing in  the  shape  of  a  melon,  and 


is  adorned  at  the  back  part  with  a 
number  of  satin  rouleaus,  placed 
bias  on  each  side ;  a  large  bouquet, 
composed  of  wall-flowers, roses,  and 
different  kinds  of  grass,  is  placed 
in  front  of  the  crown;  and  rose- 
coloured  strings  tie  the  bonnet 
under  the  chin.  Dove- coloured 
kid  shoes,  and  Limeric  gloves. 

PLATE  5. — COUUT  DRESS, 
A  blue  satin  petticoat,  finished 
at  the  bottom  by  a  silver  foil  trim- 
ming, above  which  is  a  mingled 
wreath  of  white  and  pale  blush  ro- 
ses ;  this  is  surmounted  b)^  a  rich 
trimming  of  silver  lama.  Over  the 
blue  satin  petticoat  is  one  of  point 
lace,  short  enough  to  display  the 
entire  of  the  rich  trimming  of  the 
satin  petticoat;  the  border  of  the 
lace  one  is  extremely  beautiful  ; 
the  pattern  of  the  middle  is  a  rose, 
thistle,  and  shamroc  entwined.  The 
corsage  is  white  satin,  and  the  front, 
which  is  formed  in  the  stomacher 
style,  is  nearly  covered  with  pearls. 
The  corsage  is  cut  very  low  round 
the  bust,  and  the  front  part  is  edg- 
ed with  pearls  ;  we  believe  there 
are  three  rows.  The  robe  is  blue 
zephyrine ;  the  body  rather  long  in 
the  waist;  the  back  part  made  in 
the  corset  style,  and  with  a  small 
peak:  the  robe  is  trimmed  round 
with  Urling's  point  lace,  set  on  very 
full;  a  double  fall  of  point  lace  or- 
naments the  top  of  the  back;  it 
forms  a  full  ruff  between  the  shoul- 
ders. The  sleeve  is  white  satin, 
covered  with  blond  lace,  and  taste- 
fully intermixed  with  pearls  ;  it  is 
very  full  on  the  shoulder,  but  the 
fulness  is  confined  at  the  bottom 
by  a  plain  broad  band  of  pearls. 
The  front  hair  is  disposed  in  a  few 
light  ringlets  on  the  forehead  ;  the 
hind  hair  is  concealed  by  a  profu- 


Hi& 


. 


D>!UE§§ 


GENERAL    OHSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


53 


sion  of  ostrich  feathers,  which  are 
placed  behind,  and  droop  over  the 
forehead,  which  is  encircled  by  a 
broad  pearl  bandeau.  Point  lace 
lappets,  white  kid  gloves,  and 
white  satin  shoes,  ornamented  with 
rosettes  of  pearl.  Necklace  and 
ear-rings,  pearl.  White  crape  fan, 
richly  embroidered  in  silver. 

We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
point,  inventress  of  the  corset  a  la 
Grecque,  of  No.  9,  Henrietta-street, 
Covent- Garden,  for  both  these 
dresses. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON 
FASHION   AND    DRESS. 

Promenade  dress  has  altered  but 
little  since  last  month,  and  it  is 
not  so  light  as  might  be  expected 
at  this  time  of  year.  White  dress- 
es are  fashionable;  but  we  see  an 
equal,  or  rather  a  greater,  number 
of  silk  ones;  and  the  latter  are  in 
general  of  the  richest  and  most 
substantial  description.  Pelisses 
are  still  fashionable,  but  not  upon 
the  whole  so  general  as  spencers. 

The  pelisses  worn  in  walking 
dress  are  always  composed  of  rich 
silk;  they  are  lined  in  general  with 
white  sarsnet.  There  is  nothing- 
novel  in  trimmings.  Waists  are 
the  same  length  as  last  month. 

Spencers  are  now  generally 
made  with  short  smart  jackets; 
some  of  these  are  scolloped,  others 
pointed,  and  several  consist  of  two 
or  three  rows  of  square  tabs.  Some 
are  made  without  collars,  others 
have  deep  falling  collars,  and  a 
good  many  elegantes  still  retain 
those  large  high  collars  which 
stand  out  very  much  from  the 
throat,  and  are  very  high  behind. 
.Spencers  are  mostly  trimmed  with 
satin,  or  a  mixture  of  satin  and  the 


same  material  as  the  spencer.  The 
new  silk  called  zepkyrine  is  also  a 
good  deal  used  in  trimmings;  its 
light  and  soft  texture  renders  it 
very  well  adapted  for  that  purpose. 

Silk  bonnets  are  upon  the  whole 
most  fashionable  in  the  promenade 
dress,  though  Leghorn  ones  are 
still  considered  very  genteel.  With 
the  exception  of  the  one  given  in 
our  print  (which,  we  must  observe, 
is  calculated  rather  for  dress,  pro- 
menade, or  carriage  costume,  than 
for  walking  dress),  we  observe  no 
novelty  in  their  form. 

We  observe  that  white  satin  and 
white  gros  cle  Naples  spencers  be- 
gin to  be  a  good  deal  worn  in  car- 
riage dress:  some  of  these  are 
made  in  a  style  at  once  tasteful  and 
appropriate  to  the  season ;  they  are 
trimmed  with  a  light  embroidery 
of  myrtle-leaves  in  green  silk, 
which  goes  up  the  fronts,  round 
the  collar,  and  round  the  waist: 
the  cuffs  are  also  ornamented  to 
correspond;  the  gauze  is  disposed 
in  very  full  puffs,  which  are  drawn 
in  a  bias  direction  through  the  sa- 
tin. 
The  bonnets  worn  with  these  spen- 
cers are  in  general  very  light  and 
appropriate:  the  one  which  we  are 
about  to  describe  is,  we  think,  the 
mostelegant  summer  bonnetwhich 
we  have  lately  seen  :  it  is  compo- 
sed of  white  net;  the  brim  very 
large  ;  the  crown  of  a  moderate 
size,  and  of  an  oval  form  ;  a  rich 
embroidery  of  green  satin  leaves, 
which  forms  a  broad  wreath,  goes 
round  the  edge  of  the  brim,  and 
two  wreaths  of  a  similar  descrip- 
tion are  embroidered  in  a  slanting 
direction  aci'oss  the  crown.  A 
large  hunch  of  different  kinds  of 
grass  is  placed   rather  far  back  at 


54 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    D II ESS. 


the  left  side,  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  fall  over  a  little  to  the  right;  and 
a  rich  white  sarsnet  ribbon  with 
green  edges  ties  the  bonnet  under 
the  chin. 

We  observe  that  tabbinet  and 
sarsnet  high  gowns  are  a  good  deal 
worn  in  morning  dress,  though  not 
so  much  as  muslin :  the  former  are 
in  general  trimmed  with  gauze  on- 
]y,  or  else  with  gauze  and  a  mix- 
ture of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress;  the  latter  are  trimmed  with 
soft  musfin  bouilldimt,  or  else  with 
tucks  or  flounces.  The  bodies  are 
variously  made;  some  are  orna- 
mented  with  work,  others  with 
tucks,  and  a  good  many  are  adorn- 
ed with  small  buttons,  which  are 
disposed  in  a  double  row  on  each 
side  of  the  front,  in  the  stomacher 
style.  The  epaulette,  which  is  ve- 
ry full,  is  interspersed  with  buttons, 
as  is  alsa  the  cuff,  which  is  made 
full,  to  correspond  with  the  epau- 
lette. 

Dinner  dress  continues  nearly 
the  same  as  last  month:  muslin  is 
still  but  partially  worn;  but  rich 
silks,  both  plain  and  figured,  are  ; 
very  general.  We  observe  also 
that  poplin  appears  to  be  in  re-  ! 
quest;  gauze  and  lace  are  like- 
wise fashionable,  but  not  so  much 
so  for  dinner  parties  as  for  very 
full  dress. 

The  materials  used  in  grand 
costume  continue  to  be  of  the 
richest  and  most  varied  descrip- 
tion :  nothing  could  be  more  mag- 
nificent than  the  dresses  of  the  la- 
dies who  attended  the  drawing- 
room  which  his  Majesty  held  to 
celebrate  his  birthday  on  Thurs- 
day, the  1 5th  of  June.  Gold  and 
silver  tissue,  coloured   and  white 


satin,  both  figured  and  plain,  white 
and  coloured  gros  de  Nop/es,  reps 
silk,  levantine,  velours epingle}vrhite 
and  coloured  net, blond  net,  gauze, 
tulle,  blond,  and  thread  lace,  were 
the  materials  of  the  dresses.  The 
trimmings  were  silver  fringe,  gold 
and  silver  lamas,  point  lace,  blond 
lace,  pearls,  rouleaus  of  various 
materials,  Brussels  lace,  embroi- 
dery in  coloured  silks,  artificial 
flowers  intermixed  with  satin  and 
net,  and  Roman  pearls  intermixed 
with  blond  and  satin.  We  observ- 
ed that  the  petticoats  were  all 
trimmed  very  high,  and  in  an  un- 
commonly rich  style  :  draperies 
were  not  so  much  worn  as  usual ; 
flounces  were  very  general.  Se- 
veral of  the  bodies  were  made  a 
la  Sevignt,  that  is  to  say,  a  piece 
let-in  in  folds  on  each  side  of  the 
bust,  which  forms  the  shape  in  a 
very  becoming  style;  the  lower 
partof  the  bodyplain.  The  sleeves 
were  very  full.  The  head-dresses 
were  feathers  and  diamonds,  or 
feathers  and  pearls:  in  some  in- 
stances coloured  stones  were  mixed 
with  the  diamonds;  in  others,  dia- 
monds and  pearls  were  mixed  :  this, 
however,  was  rarely  the  case.  There 
were  also,  in  a  few  instances,  an 
intermixture  of  artificial  flowers 
and  jewels  with  feathers.  There 
were  very  few  toques.  The  lap- 
pets were  of  Brussels  Gr  blond 
lace. 

The  colours  were  almost  as  vari- 
ous as  the  materials :  white,  green, 
lilac,  lavender,  citron,  blue,  prim- 
rose, pink,  ponceau,  geranium,  and 
peach-colour.  White  was  the  most 
general:  we  observed  in  many  in- 
stances both  the  body  and  train 
were  white. 


IKJ  \<:J[    I TMAl.!:    I  \SHlONS. 


55 


As  court  dress  docs  not  vary,  ex- 
cept in  the  trimmings,  we  do  not 
enter  into  ar^  detailed  account  of 
t')c  make  of  the  dresses,  because 


we  have  presented  our  fair  readers 
with  one  of  the  most  elegant  we 
could  procure,  in  our  print. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Pabis,  Jiii'.'  ID. 
My  dear  SoniiA, 

I  HAVE  not  much  novelty  to 
announce  to  you  this  month  in 
promenade  dress.  The  weather 
has  lately  been  cold  and  unsettled, 
and  white  dresses  were  in  conse- 
quence less  worn  than  they  have 
generally  been  at  this  time  of  the 
year;  they  are  now  again  become 
fashionable,  but  silks  are  still  in  re- 
quest: the  latter  are  always  trim- 
med with  the  same  material.  I  do 
not  know  how  to  give  you  an  idea 
of  these  trimmings,  which  are  sin- 
gular and  pretty  :  they  are  of  two 
kinds;  the  one  consists  of  double 
bands  of  the  silk  scolloped  at  the 
edges  ;  they  are  plaited,  very  full, 
in  separate  bands,  each  about  a 
quarter  in  length,  and  are  laid  on 
the  gown  lengthwise,  but  in  a  slant- 
ing direction,  and  at  some  dis- 
tance from  each  other:  there  are 
two  rows  of  this  kind  of  trimming; 
the  top  row  is  not  so  deep  as  the 
bottom.  The  other  style  of  trim- 
ming consists  of  separate  pieces, 
each  forming  a  small  ruche;  these 
are  laid  crosswise,  but  a  little 
slanting,  upon  bias  bands  of  the 
same  stuff:  there  are  two  rows,  put 
at  some  distance  from  each  other. 
I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  that  the 
waists  of  dresses  are  still  as  long 
asever.  The  bodiesof  silk  dresses 
are  made  always  in  the  stomacher 
style,  and  are  verv  generally  peak- 
ed :  some  have  a  stomacher  let  in; 


this  consists  of  a  plaited  piece  in- 
serted in  each  side  of  the  front, 
and  ornamented  with  a  row  of  but- 
tons up  the  middle  :  the  stomacher 
of  other  dresses  is  formed  by  a 
ruche,  which  goes  round  the  middle 
of  the  back,  and  tapers  on  each 
side  of  the  front,  till  it  ends  in  a 
peak  below  the  girdle.  These 
dresses  have  always  a  small  collar, 
which  is  not  seen,  because  it  is 
covered  by  a  large  ruff.  The  sleeve 
is  nearly  tight  to  the  arm  ;  it  is  va- 
riously ornamented  :  some  are  fi- 
nished at  the  bottom  with  a  soft  roll 
in  the  turban  style  ;  others  have  a 
full  narrow  ruche.  The  epaulettes 
are  in  general  full:  some  have  lit- 
tle open  spaces  in  the  middle  of 
the  arm  :  there  are  two  rows  of 
them,  and  they  are  looped  together 
by  little  folded  bands  of  the  same 
material,  which  passes  through 
them.  Others  are  full  on  the 
shoulder;  the  fulness  is  confined  by 
straps,  which  are  placed  length- 
wise, and  which  button  at  the 
bottom  :  a  full  double  ruche  termi- 
nates this  kind  of  half-sleeve. 

Now  for  our  muslin  dresses, 
which  have  in  general  the  most 
formal  appearance  that  you  can 
conceive.  There  are  three  sorts 
of  trimmings  fashionable  for  white 
dresses:  tucks,  which  are  as  much 
worn  as  when  I  wrote  you  lasc, 
bouil1oiwe\  composed  of  clear  mus- 
lin, and  let  in  between  bands  of 
rich  work  and   embroidery,   with- 


o6 


PKKNCH   FL'MALE   FASHIONS. 


out  any  mixture  of  muslin  :  the 
latter  is  extremely  rich,  and  always 
very  deep. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  variety 
in  the  make  of  the  bodies,  which, 
I  must  observe  to  you,  always  fast- 
en behind.  A  good  manyare  com- 
posed of  full  broad  bands  of  muslin, 
which  are  sewed  crosswise  to  very 
narrow  bands  of  the  same.  The 
sleeves  are  made  in  a  similar  man- 
ner, but  the  bands  are  placed 
lengthwise.  There  is  a  very  full 
epaulette,  which  corresponds  with 
the  body ;  that  is  to  say,  the  bands 
are  placed  across.  The  bottom  of 
the  long  sleeve  is  generally  finish- 
ed by  a  fulness  of  muslin  doubled; 
there  are  usually  two  rows  of  this 
kind  of  trimmingf. 

The  tucked  bodies  in  general 
correspond  with  the  skirts  :  some, 
however,  are  made  with  military 
fronts;  that  is  to  say,  braided,  in 
the  hussar  style,  with  while  cord, 
and  ornamented  with  white  but- 
tons. The  epaulettes  of  these 
dresses  are  generally  formed  of 
Spanish  puffs,  which  are  let  in  very 
full. 

Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful 
than  the  dresses  which  are  orna- 
mented only  with  embroidery;  the 
bodies  and  sleeves  are  almost  en- 
tirely composed  of  it :  it  is  some- 
times mixed  with  lace  ;  sometimes 
a  part  of  the  embroidery  is  done 
in  open  work,  which  resembles 
lace.  The  collars  of  muslin  dresses 
are  made  high  within  these,  few 
days  past,  particularly  behind;  but 
they  are  onty  partially  seen,  be- 
cause of  the  large  ruff,  which, 
whatever  may  be  the  dress,  is  an 
indispensable  appendage  to  walk- 
ing costume. 

The  high  gown  forms   at  once 


the  in-door  and  morning  walking 
dress.  Spencers,  pelisses,  and 
even  saittoirs,  have  disappeared. — 
Sometimes,  but  very  rarely,  a  light 
silk  shawl  is  thrown  carelessly 
across  the  shoulders;  but  in  ge- 
neral the  gown  forms  the  only  cover- 
ing. Before  I  quit  the  subject  of 
promenade  dress,  I  must  observe 
that  sashes  are  now  seldom  worn 
with  coloured  dresses  :  a  cestus,  to 
correspond  with  the  dress,  and 
fastened  in  front  by  a  steel  clasp, 
is  considered  more  fashionable. 
Sashes  of  various  kinds  are  still 
worn  with  white  dresses;  the  most 
fashionable  are  richly  embroidered 
at  the  ends. 

Our  bonnets  are  reduced  in  size 
since  I  wrote  last :  the  crowns  are 
lower;  the  brims  are  in  some  in- 
stances square  on  one  side,  and 
round  on  the  other.  They  are 
still  very  much  trimmed  on  the  in- 
side of  the  brim.  Some  of  the 
brims  are  excessively  wide ;  they  are 
disposed  in  very  deep  plaits;  there  is 
a  pointed  piece  of  the  same  ma- 
terial laid  on  one  side  of  the  brim, 
which  turns  back  towards  the  crown, 
and  is  edged  with  blond.  Several 
white  gauze  hats  also  have  the 
brims  disposed  in  deep  hollow 
plaits,  and  the  edge  of  the  brim 
turned  up  in  a  soft  roll.  A  small 
square  handkerchief,  also  compos- 
ed of  gauze,  is  laid  over  the  crown  : 
the  four  ends  of  this  handkerchief, 
which  are  tacked  down,  partially 
conceal  the  wreath  of  roses  or 
honeysuckles  which  encircles  the 
bottom  of  the  crown. 

Muslin  capotes  are  this  year  very 
much  in  favour.  I  believe  I  have 
already  explained  to  you,  that 
capote  is  only  another  name  for  a 
bonnet.     Those  that  are  now  fa- 


FIU'NCM    IKMU.I-     FASHIONS. 


r>7 


shionable  are  of  a  very  neat  and 
simple  description,  and  admirably 
adapted  for  morning  walking  dress; 
they  are  made  always  in  cambric 
nmslin,  and  are  trimmed  either 
with  the  same  or  with  soft  muslin. 
The  crowns  of  capotes  are  in  ge- 
neral higher  than  those  of  other 
bonnets;  some  are  made  like  the 
caul  of  a  night-cap,  and  are  adorn- 
ed with  Spanish  puffs  round  the 
fop  :  the  brims  of  these  are  gene- 
rally covered  with  bouilloTie,  and  the 
edge  of  the  brim  is  finished  by  a 
ruche  or  quilling  of  soft  muslin. 
Others  have  a  round  crown,  orna- 
mented with  tucks,  and  a  rouleau 
of  soft  muslin  laid  on  in  a  wave 
near  the  top  :  the  brims  of  these  are 
generally  formed  of  an  intermix- 
ture of  soft  muslin  and  perkale; 
the  latter  plain,  the  former  let  in 
waves.  A  third  kind  have  a  crown, 
the  top  of  which  is  shaped  like  a 
melon  ;  it  is  plain,  but  the  lower 
part  of  the  crown  and  the  brim  are 
eased  :  the  spaces  between  the  eas- 
ings  are  narrow  and  very  full. 
Small  bows  of  muslin  are  placed 
either  on  one  side  or  in  the  middle 
of  the  crown,  and  they  are  tied 
with  muslin  strings. 

I  perceive  that  in  speaking  of 
promenade  dress,  I  have  forgotten 
to  tell  you,  that  pelerines  are  still 
fashionable,  though  not  universal- 
ly worn  :  they  have  always  a  deep 
point  before,  and  another  behind; 
sometimes  there  is  a  smaller  point 
on  each  shoulder. 

I  should  not  have  detained  you 
so  long  in  the  open  air,  m}'  dear 
Sophia,  but  that  I  have  very  little 
to  s^y  respecting  in-door  dress. 
Our  breakfast  tables  indeed  would 
furnish  you  with  some  very  pretty 
corvettes  and  caps  a  V  enfant.     Some 

Vol.  X    No.  LI  . 


of  these  are  made  in  perkale;  others 
in  soft  muslin:  the  shape  of  the 
latter  does  not  require  to  be  de- 
scribed; it  is  precisely  the  form 
of  a  child's  cap.  Some  have  a  bor- 
der of  plain  muslin,  which  goes 
all  round,  and  is  double  just  over 
the  forehead.  The  crown  is  slight- 
ly embroidered;  there  is  a  small 
bow  of  white  ribbon  placed  be- 
hind, and  they  tie  with  a  white  rib- 
bon under  the  chin. 

Others,  though  of  the  same  form, 
are  much  more  richly  made,  and 
are  in  fact  adapted  for  half -dress. 
The  border  is  of  rich,  work;  the 
crown  is  covered  with  embroidery; 
a  row  of  Spanish  puffs  is  let  up  the 
middle  of  the  back;  a  couple  of 
knots  of  rose-coloured  ribbon  are 
placed  on  the  caul;  one  just  over 
the  forehead,  the  other  farther  back; 
a  knot,  to  correspond,  is  placed 
behind,  at  the  bottom  of  the  caul., 
and  it  fastens  with  a  similar  knot 
under  the  chin. 

The  coriictt.es  have  short  ears: 
some  are  of  plain  perkale ;  the 
crowns  of  these  are  adorned  with 
narrow  cord,  laid  on  something  in 
the  style  of  a  scroll  pattern:  the 
border  is  lightly  finished  with  work, 
and  is  triple,  except  at  the  ears 
and  behind.  Others  are  very  richly 
embroidered,  and  the  crown  orna- 
mented with  three  rows  of  Spanish 
puffs,  one  up  the  front,  and  cxne 
on  each  side. 

I  have  already  described  morn- 
ing dress  to  you  in  speaking  of 
promenade  costume,  and  there  is 
very  little  alteration  in  dinner 
gowns  since  I  wrote  last.  Clear 
muslin  and  jaconot  muslin,  richly 
embroidered,  are  the  materials  at 
present  most  fashionable.  Silk  is 
very  little  worn. 
*  I 


58 


FASHIONABLE    FURNITURE. 


Crape  is  a  good  deal  used  for 
grand  costume,  as  is  also  silver 
gauze;  both  are  worn  over  white 
satin.  Dress  gowns  are  cut  very 
low,  and  are  as  much  trimmed  as 
when  I  wrote  last;  but  the  style  of 
trimming  continues  the  same. 

The  flowers  most  in  favour  are, 
roses,  violets,  corn-flowers,  honey- 
suckles, andblue-bells.  Those  con- 
sidered fashionable  for  the  prome- 
nade only  are,  corn-flowers  min- 
gled with  wheat-ears,  or  wreaths 
of  wheat-ears,  or  honeysuckles 
without  any  mixture.  The  others 
are  generally  worn  in  full  dress,  in 
which  flowers  are  still  as  fashion- 
able as  ever;  in  fact,  the  heads  of 


our  belles  are  ornamented  with  no- 
thing else.  They  are  variously 
disposed  :  diadems,  coronets,  gar- 
lands, and  wreaths,  are  all  fashion- 
able. In  some  instances,  flowers 
are  scattered  irregularly  in  small 
bunches  over  the  head. 

In  speaking  of  promenade  cos- 
tume, I  forgot  to  observe,  that  an 
indispensable  article  of  it  is,  a  ri- 
dicule in  the  form  of  a  portfolio. 

Fashionable  colours  are,lilac,  la- 
vender, blue,  and  citron  ;  but  white 
is  still  considered  most  tonish. 

Farewell,  my  dear  Sophia !  Be- 
lieve me  ever  your 

Eudocia. 


PLATE    3. 


FASHIONABLE  FURNITURE. 
-DRAPERIES  TOR  A  half-sexagon  bow  window. 


A  jardiniere  is  here  introduced 
as  an  elegant  article  suited  to  a 
drawing-room,  and  which  likewise 
serves  to  furnish  the  vacancy  other- 
wise occasioned  by  the  shape  of 
the  window.  The  upper  figure,  as 
well  as  the  group  below,  may  be 
sculptured  in  marble,  or  carved  in 
wood;  and  the  basket  which  springs 
from  the  cistern,  may  be  composed 
of  wicker-work,  painted  green,  or 
any  other  soft  and  subservient  co- 


lour. The  cistern,  being  lined  with 
tin  or  fine  sheet  lead,  might  be 
made  to  contain  a  great  assem- 
blage of  foliage,  and  a  proper  pro- 
vision of  water  would  render  it  at 
all  times  buoyant.  Pot-pourri 
jars  may  be  introduced  in  the  re- 
ceptacle below,  encircled  withbrass 
treillage. 

It  is  to  the  taste  of  Mr.  Stafford 
of  Bath,  that  we  are  indebted  for 
this  design. 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Consisting  oj  interesting  Extracts  from  new  popular  Publications. 


OF  THE  EDUCATION  OF  MADAME  DE  STAEL,  AND  HER 

EARLY  YEARS. 

(From  Sketch  of  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Madame  de  Stael,  by  Madame 

Neckeii  de  Saussure.) 


The  mother  of  Madame  de 
Stael,  Madame  Necker,  at  the  time 
of  her  marriage,  had  enjoyed  a 
more  extensive  and  finished  course 


of  education  than  that  of  her 
daughter  at  the  same  age.  By  her 
father,  a  learned  clergyman,  she 
had  been  instructed  in  branches  of 


J.DUCATION,    &C.    OF    MADAME    DF.   ST  Aft  L. 


59 


learning  not  common  in  her  sex, 
and  that  spirit  of  method,  which 
leads  to  the  acquisition  of  know- 
ledge of  every  kind.  Endowed 
with,  firmness  of  character,  great 
strength  of  mind,  and  ample  ca- 
pacity for  labour,  Madame  Necker 
obtained  great  success  in  her  stu- 
dies ;  and  hence  she  was  led  to  sup- 
pose, that  everything  might  be  ac- 
quired by  dint  of  study.  Accord- 
ingly she  studied  herself,  she  stu- 
died societ}*,  individuals,  the  art 
of  writing,  that  of  conversing,  that 
of  housekeeping,  and  above  all, 
that  of  preserving  the  purity  of 
her  principles,  without  neglecting 
any  thing  that  could  tend  to  en- 
large her  understanding.  She 
paid  attention  to  every  thing,  made 
very  acute  observations,  reduced 
them  to  system,  and  hence  framed 
her  rules  of  conduct.  The  minu- 
test particulars  assumed  conse- 
quence in  her  eyes,  because  she 
connected  them  with  the  great 
ideas  of  religion  and  morality  ;  and 
her  mind,  of  a  metaphysical  turn, 
exerted  itself  to  find  their  point  of 
contact.  In  thus  making  the  most 
trifling  occurrences  in  life  a  point 
of  duty,  she  spared  herself  the 
troubles  of  irresolution  and  regret : 
but  this  connection,  not  altogether 
artificial,  was  never  thoroughly 
perceived  but  by  her  who  had 
formed  it. 

This  kind  of  mental  labour  is 
faithfully  displayed  in  the  M6- 
la?iges  de  Madame  Necker,  "  Mis- 
cellanies by  Madame  Necker."  A 
very  remarkable  sentiment  of  de- 
licacy pervades  this  work,  which 
has  been  highly  admired  in  foreign 
countries,  particularly  in  Germany. 
It  is  an  interesting  spectacle,  to 
behold   a    young    and     handsome 


woman  passing  from  a  state  of  pro- 
found retirement  to  a  splendid 
station  in  life,  and  thence  to  the 
most  eminent  that  can  be  occupied 
by  a  subject ;  employing  a  mind, 
already  highly  cultivated,  on  the 
various  objects  of  a  world  quite 
new  to  her,  and  contemplating  so- 
ciety at  large  with  the  double  view 
of  distinguishing  and  improving 
herself  in  it.  Nevertheless  this 
constant  attention  of  Madame 
Necker  to  what  is  right  was  detri- 
mental to  the  ease  of  her  manners  ; 
there  was  a  constraint  in  her  and 
about  her  ;  her  temper  would  pro- 
bably have  been  sour,  and  her  will 
headstrong,  had  she  not  early  felt 
the  necessity  of  self-command. 
Having  obtained  much  b}^  exertion, 
she  expected  exertion  in  others, 
and  was  indulgent  only  when  the 
duty  of  Christian  charity  presented 
itself  clearly  to  her  mind.  Mr. 
Necker  gave  a  very  just  idea  of  her, 
when  he  said  to  us  one  day  in  fa- 
miliar conversation,  "  Madame 
Necker  wanted  nothing  perhaps 
to  make  her  deemed  perfect^  ami- 
able, but  not  being  faultless." 

Not  but  she  was  captivating 
whenever  she  chose.  She  was  not 
sparing  of  merited  praise.  Her 
blue  eyes  were  soft  and  sometimes 
caressing ;  and  there  was  in  her 
countenance  an  expression  of  ex- 
treme innocence,  of  ingenuous- 
ness even,  which  formed  an  enga- 
ging contrast  with  her  tall  and 
somewhat  stiff  figure. 

The  charms  of  infancy  did  not 
operate  very  powerfully  on  Ma- 
dame Necker.  She  had  subjugated 
nature  too  powerfully  to  be  much 
swayed  by  instinct.  It  was  neces- 
sary for  her  to  admire  what  she 
loved ;  and  an  affection,  spring- 
I  2 


EDUCATION,     <SCC.    OF   MADAMR    DK   STAIiL. 


ing  wholly  from  sentiment'  and 
fancy,  could  not  but  be  somewhat 
foreign  to  her  heart.  Gratitude 
was  in  her  eyes  the  first  of  ties  : 
consequently  she  adored  her  father, 
and  that  exalted  filial  love,  which 
appears  to  be  a  distinguishing  cha- 
racteristic of  the  family,  mani- 
fested itself  already  in  her.  God, 
her  parents,  and  her  husband, 
whom  she  adored  also  as  a  bene- 
factor, were  the  only  ohjects  of 
her  ardent  affections. 

She  undertook  the  education  of 
her  daughter,  however,  with  that 
eager  zeal,  which  the  idea  of  duty 
ever  inspired  in  her.  Her  system 
was  totally  opposite  to  that  of 
Rousseau.  It  is  well  known  that 
this  writer,  setting  out  with  the 
principle,  that  we  acquire  ideas 
only  through  the  med.um  of  the 
senses,  maintained,  that  we  should 
begin  with  improving  the  organs 
of  our  perceptions,  if  we  would 
obtain  moral  improvement,  that 
should  be  neither  irregular  nor 
illusory.  This  reasoning,  open  as 
it  is  to  attack  in  itself,  has  never 
iound  favour  with  religious  minds, 
because  it  appears  to  admit  too 
great  a  sway  of  physical  over  mo- 
ral nature.  Madame  Necker,  ac- 
customed to  combat  materialism 
in  all  its  forms,  could  not  but  dis- 
cern it  in  this  doctrine.  Accord- 
ingly, she  took  the  opposite  road, 
and  sought  to  act  upon  mind  im- 
mediately by  mind.  She  thought 
it  right  to  accumulate  a  great  num- 
ber of  ideas  in  the  young  head, 
without  losing  too  much  time  in 
arranging  them  in  order,  persua- 
ded that  the  understanding  grows 
indolent  when  spared  such  a  labour. 
This  method  too  is  not  without  its 
inconveniences ;  but,  with  regard 


to  the  developement  of  the  intellect, 
the  example  of  Madame  de  Stael 
leads  us  to  presume  that  it  is  effi- 
cacious. 

Mademoiselle  Necker,  when  an 
infant,  was  full  of  cheerfulness, 
vivacity,  and  frankness.  Her  com- 
plexion was  rather  brown,  but  ani- 
mated, and  her  large  black  eyes 
already  sparkled  with  kindness  and 
intelligence.  The  caresses  of  her 
father,  who  incessantly  encourag- 
ed the  child  to  prattle,  were  a 
little  at  variance  with  the  more 
rigid  plan  of  Madame  Necker ;  but 
the  applauses  excited  by  her  sallies 
encouraged  her  continually  to  utter 
new  ones;  and  already  she  an- 
swered the  perpetual  pleasantries 
of  Mr.  Necker  with  that  mixture 
of  gaiety  and  tenderness,  which  so 
frequently  mark  her  conversation 
with  him.  The  idea  of  giving 
pleasure  to  her  parents  was  with 
her  a  motive  extraordinarily  power- 
ful. Thus,  for  instance,  when  only 
ten  years  old,  observing  their  great 
admiration  of  Mr.  Gibbon,  she 
thought  it  her  duty  to  marry  him 
(and  what  his  person  was  is  well 
known) ,  that  they  might  be  ena- 
bled constantly  to  enjoy  a  conver- 
sation so  agreeable  to  them.  This 
match  she  seriously  proposed  to 
her  mother*. 

Mademoiselle  Necker  seems  to 
have  had  a  premature  youth  instead 
of  infancy.  In  every  thing  related 
to  me  on  this  subject,  I  find  only 
a  single  circumstance  bearing  the 
stamp  of  that  age,  and  even  in  this 
the  propensities  of  talent  are  ob- 
servable.    In   her    childhood   she 

*  The  reader  is  awarp,  that  many  vears 
before  tliis  Mr.  Gibbon  was  desirenfc  of 
marrying  Madame  Necker,  then  .Made- 
moiselle Curchod. 


EDUCATION,   &.C.    OF    MADAME    Dli   STAEL. 


61 


amused  herself  with  cutting  out 
paper  kings  and  queens,  and  mak- 
ing them  act  a  tragedy.  She  used 
to  hide  herself  to  enjoy  this  amuse- 
ment, which  was  forbidden  her: 
:md  hence  she  acquired  the  only 
trick  she  was  ever  known  to  have, 
that  of  turning  about  between  her 
fingers  a  little  flag  of  papers  or 
leaves. 

To  give  an  idea  at  once  of  Ma- 
demoiselle Necker  at  the  age  of 
eleven  years,  and  the  house  of  her 
mother  at  that  period,  I  shall  quote 
a  few  passages  from  a  delightful 
piece  on  the  infancy  of  Madame 
de  Stael,  written  by  a  lady  of 
great  wit,  Madame  Rilliet,  then 
Madame  Huber,  who  was  always 
very  intimate  with  her.  The  ex- 
cellent education  of  Madame  Hu- 
ber, and  an  ancient  family  intima- 
cy, having  led  Madame  Necker  to 
be  desirous  of  her  becoming  the 
friend  of  her  daughter,  she  relates 
her  first  interview  with  Mademoi- 
selle Necker,  the  transports  of  the 
latter  at  the  idea  of  having  a  com- 
panion, and  the  promises  she  made 
of  loving  her  for  ever. 

M  She  spoke  to  me  with  a  warrrith 
and  facility  which  were  already 
eloquence,  and  made  a  great  im- 
pression on   me We   did   not 

play  like  children:  she  asked  me 
immediately  what  lessons  I  learned, 
whether  I  were  acquainted  with 
any  foreign  languages,  and  if  I 
went  frequently  to  the  play.  When 
I  told  her,  that  I  had  been  only 
three  or  four  times;  she  expressed 
her  regret,  promised  me  that  I 
should  go  often  with  her,  and  add- 
ed, that  at  our  return  we  would 
write  down  the  subject  of  the 
pieces,  and  note  what  had  appear- 


ed striking  to  us,  as  was  her  cus- 
tom  

"  She  said  to  me  afterwards, 
'  We  will  write  to  each  other  every 
morning.'  We  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room. By  the  side  of  Mr. 
Necker's  arm-chair  was  a  little 
wooden  stool,  on  which  his  daugh- 
ter seated  herself,  obliged  to  sit 
very  upright.  Scarcely  had  she 
taken  her  customary  place,  when 
three  or  four  old  persons  came  up 
to  her,  and  accosted  her  with  the 
tenderest  regard.  One  of  them, 
who  had  on  a  little  bob  wig,  took 
her  hands  in  his,  and  held  them  a 
long  time,  conversing  with  her  as 
if  she  had  been  five  and  twenty. 
This  was  Abbe  Raynal.  The 
others  were  Messrs.  Thomas  and 
Marmontel,  the  Marquis  of  Pesay, 
and  Baron  von  Grimm.  When  we 
sat  down  to  table  you  should  have 
seen  how  attentive  she  was!  She 
uttered  not  a  word,  yet  she  seemed 
as  if  speaking  in  her  turn,  all  her 
flexible  features  displayed  so  much 
expression.  Her  eyes  followed  the 
looks  and  motions  of  those  who 
spoke:  you  would  have  said  she 
seized  their  ideas  before  she  heard 
them.  She  was  mistress  of  every 
subject,  even  politics,  which  at 
that  time  had  become  one  of  the 
leading  topics  of    conversation 

"  After  dinner,  a  great  deal  of 
company  came  in.  Every  one  on 
coming  up  to  Mr.  Necker  had 
something  to  say  to  his  daughter, 
either  complimenting    or   joking 

her She  answered  all  with  ease 

and  elegance  :  they  took  pleasure 
in  attacking  her,  embarrassing  her, 
exciting  in  her  that  little  imagina- 
tion, which  already  appeared  so 
brilliant.     The  men    most  tlistin  - 


62 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,   CiC. 


guisbecl  for  their  talents  were  those 
who  were  most  eager  to  make  her 
talk.  They  asked  an  account  of 
what  she  was  reading,  pointed  out 
fresh  subjects  to  her,  and  gave  her 


a  taste  for  study,  by  conversing 
with  her  on  what  she  had  learned, 
or  what  she  had  not." 

(2b  be  continued.) 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


In  the  press,  with  a  portrait  of 
the  author,  engraved  by  Woolnoth, 
from  an  original  by  Wageman, 
Miscellanies,  in  prose  and  verse, 
by  Thomas  Jones,  author  of  poems, 
consisting  of  "  Elegies,  Sonnets, 
Songs,  &,c."  "  Phantoms,  or  the 
Irishman  in  England,"  a  farce; 
&c. 

Mr.  Murray  has  the  following 
works  in  the  press  : 

1.  The  Personal  History  of  King 
George  the  Third,  undertaken  with 
the  assistance  of,  and  in  commu- 
nication with,  persons  officially 
connected  with  the  late  king,  and 
dedicated,  by  express  permission, 
to  his  present  Majesty,  by  Ed- 
ward Hawke  Locker,  Esq.  F.  R.  S. ; 
with  portraits,  fac-similesv,  and 
other  engravings;  in  one  hand- 
some volume  -lto. 

2.  The  Prophecy  of  Dante,  a 
poem,  by  the  Right  Hon.  Lord 
Byron. 

3.  Narrative  of  the  Operations 
and  recent  Discoveries  zoithin  the 
Pyramids,  Temples,  Tombs,  and  Ex- 
cavations, in  Egypt  and  Nubia  ;  and 
of  a  Journey  to  the  Coast  of  the  Red 
Sea,  in  search  of  the  ancient  Be- 
renice, and  another  to  the  Oasis  of 
Jupiter  Amnion;  by  G.  Belzoni: 
accompanied  by  plates,  plans, 
views,  &c.  of  the  newly  discovered 
places,  &c.  4to. 

4 .  Travels,  in  1816  and  .  1 8 1 7 , 
through  Nubia,  Palestine,  and  Syria, 
in  a  series  of  familiar  letters  to  his 


relations,  written  on   the  spot,  by 
Captain  Mangles,  R.  N.  two  vols. 

5.  Sketches,  descriptive  of  Italy 
in  1817  and  1818,  with  a  brief  ac- 
count of  travels  in  various  parts  of 
France  and  Switzerland  in  the 
same  years  >  4  vols,  small  8vo. 

6.  A  System  of  Mechanical  PA&- 
losophy,  by  the  late  John  Robison, 
LL.D.  Professor  of  Natural  Philo- 
sophy in  the  University  and  Se- 
cretary to  the  Royal  Society  of 
Edinburgh;  with  notes  and  illus- 
trations, comprising  the  most  re- 
cent discoveries  in  the  physical 
sciences ;  byDavid  Brewster,  LL.D. 
F.  R.  S.  E. ;  in  4  vols.  8vo.  with  nu- 
merous plates. 

A  general  account,  shewing  the 
state  of  education  in  England: 

Endowed  Schools. — New  Schools, 
number  302,  children  39,590;  Or- 
dinary Schools,  number  3,865, 
children  125,843;  totals,  number 
4,167,  children  165,433;  total  re- 
venue, 300,525/. 

Unendowed  Day-  Schools.  —  New 
Schools,  number  820,  children 
105,582;  Dames'  Schools,  number 
3,102,  children  53,624;  Ordinary 
Schools,  number  10,360,  children 
319,643;  totals,  number  14,282, 
children  478,849. 

Sunday  Schools. — Number  404, 
children  50,979;  Ordinary  Schools, 
number  4,758,  children  401,838; 
totals,  number  5162,  children 
452,817. -Total  population  in  1811, 
9,543,610;  poor  in  1815,  853.249. 


L.  Harrisyi),  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


THE 


BeposWorp 


of 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  8$c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


August  1,  1820. 


Ts°  LVI, 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  *                          page 

1.  An  Ice-House,  Tool-House,  and  Gauden-Seat  .         .         .         .63 

2.  View  of  Pliniana,  on  the  Lake  of  Como 8.5 

3.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress       .         .         .         .         .  .         ,         .         .107 

4.  Evening  Dkess         .         .         .         .         •  .        .         .        .     ib. 

5.  A  Russian  Dkoschki     .         .         .         .         .         .  .         .         .         .113 

0.  Pattern  for  Black  and  White  Inlaid  Work. 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
Hints  on   Ornamental  Gardening. — An 
Ice-House,  Tool-House,  and  Garden- 
Seat  63 

MISCELLANIES. 
Correspondence  of  the  Adviser      ...     64 

Parisian  Sketches,  No.  X 66 

Robert  Burns  and  Helen  Maria  Williams     70 

A  Debt  of  Gratitude  paid 74 

Coronation  Ceremonials 77 

Anecdote  of  the  Duke  de  Berri  ...  82 
The  Generous  Lover,  a  Tale,  from  the 

Spanish  of  Cervantes  (concluded)      .     83 
Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Siniplon. — 
View  of  Pliniana,  on  Lake  Como     .     .     85 

On  Needle- Work 87 

Marriage  of  Kjng  Charles  1 91 

The  Female  Tattler.— No.  LVI.    .     .     .     95 
Account  of  the  North-American  Indians' 
Barbarity  to  their  Captives  ....     98 

The  good  Wife 100 

Church  Bells 101 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 
Burrowes's  Caledonian  Airs     ....  103 

. Overture  arranged  as  a  Duet  104 

Weippart's  "  Di  tanti  palpiti"  .  .  .  ib. 
Danneley's  Palinodia  a  Nice  .  .  .  .  ib. 
Attwood's  "  A  rose-bud  by  my  early 

walk,"  a  Glee 105 

Sanderson's  "  Donald  and  Annot"  .  .  ib. 
Rimbault's  "  La  petite  Bagatelle"    .     .     ib. 

Butler's  "  La  Bellina" ib. 

— — Hungarian  Waltz      ....     ib. 


PAGE 

Spanish  Dances,  No.  1 106 

Smith's  "  The  tear  that  gems  dear  wo- 
man's eye" ib. 

Davy's  "  When  the  flame  of  love  in- 
spiring"    .........'     ib. 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Walking 
Dress 107 

Ladies'  Evening  Dress ib. 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 108 

French  Female  Fashions 110 


A  Russian  Droschki 113 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Of  the  Education  of  Madame  de  Stael, 
and  her  early  Years  (from  "  Sketch 
of  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Ma- 
dame de  Stael,"  by  Madame  Necker 
de  Saussure) ib. 

The  Character  of  Hamlet  (from  Haz- 
litt's  "  Characters  of  Shakspeare's 
Plays")      .     •     

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC      .... 
POETRY. 

Launceston  Castle,  from  '*  Comubia," 
a  Poem  by  the  Rev.  G.  Woodley  .     . 

A  Sonnet,  written"  after  attending  the 
Funeral  of  a  Friend,  by  J.  M.  L.  .     . 


118 


122 


124 

ib. 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  -iTZ,  Strand, 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  works  which  they  may  have,  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheeifully  insert 
them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  New  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  new  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

We  request  the  continuation  of  The  Generous  Friend,  a  translation  from  the 
Spanish. 

The  Letter  of  A  constant  Reader  came  too  lute  for  insertion. 

We  have  quoted  with  pleasure  the  extract  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Woodley's  poem; 
but  ive  give  no  critiques  upon  books,  or  if  any,  none  but  our  own. 
An'iquarius  has  our  thanks. 

Alfred  shall  find  a  place,  if  possible,  in  our  next  Number. 
Sir  Pertinax  must  ivaitfor  a  short  time  before  his  request  can  be  complied  with. 


Persons  who  reside  abroad,  and  who  wish  to  be  supplied  with  this  Work  every  Mouth  hs 
published,  may  have  it  sent  to  them,  free  of  Postage,  to  New-York,  Halifax,  Quebec,  and 
to  any  part  of  the  West  Indies,  at  Jt'4  12s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Thorn  hill,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  21,  Sherborne- Lane;  to  Hamburgh,  Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta,  or 
any  Part  of  the  Mediterranean,  at  £4  J2s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Serjeant,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  22,  Sherborne-lane  ;  and  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  any  part  of  the 
East  Indies,  by  Mr.  Guv,  at  the  East-India  House.  The  money  to  he  paid  at  the  time  of 
subscribing,  for  either  a,  6,  9,  or  ]2  months. 


g 

N 


THE 


&eposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,   FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  8$c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


August  1,  1820. 


IN0  LVI. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  p.  1.) 
1»LATK   7. — AN   tCJi-HOUSE,  TOOL-HOUSE,  AND   GAUD  EN-SEAT. 


This  building  is  intended  as  an 
ornamental  covering  to  an  ice- 
well:  when  the  means  of  drain- 
age are  not  ample  in  depth,  the 
building  is  of  necessity  chiefly 
above  ground  ;  and  a  thatch  roofing 
becomes  important  to  the  preser- 
vation of  the  ice,  as  the  sun  will 
otherwise  penetrate  and  melt  it. 
In  such  cases,  a  free  current  of  air 
should  be  permitted  to  take  place 
between  the  crown  of  the  well  and 
the  roof,  so  that  the  temperature 
should  be  moderated. 

The  plan  of  this  building  would 
be  square:  space  would  then  re- 
main  applicable   to   a  tool-house 

VuL  X.  No.  J.n. 


for  the  gardener;  and,  on  the  op- 
posite side,  a  garden-seat  might 
he  formed,  which,  if  so  placed  as 
to  command  a  prospect,  would 
make  a  pleasant  retreat,  and  an 
arbour,  in  which  ices  and  other 
refreshments  might  be  taken. 

Reed -thatching  is  the  proper 
covering  for  this  building;  the  pil- 
lars which  support  it,  should  be  the 
unbarked  wood  of  forest  trees ;  and 
the  arches  and  railing  composed 
of  its  branches :  creepers,  and  other 
plants,  might  be  trained  about  it 
in  great  luxuriance,  so  as  to  ren- 
der it  a  striking  and  ornamental 
object  in  a  garden. 
K 


64 


MISCELLANIES. 

CORRESPONDENCE  OF  THE  ADVISER. 


I  NiiViilt  asked  advice  in  my 
life,  sir;  but  yet,  for  the  novelty  of 
the  thing,  I  will  this  once  apply 
for  yours.  As  to  taking  it,  that 
must  depend  on  how  far  it  appears 
worthy  to  be  followed ;  that  is  to 
say,  how  far  it  suits  1113-  inclination. 
I  am,  sir,  at  this  moment  addressed 
by  four  lovers,  each  of  whom  would, 
in  the  eye  of  the  world,  be  a  pru- 
dent match.  Every  body  wonders 
that  I  do  not  make  choice  of  one 
or  other  of  them;  and  nobody 
seems  to  consider,  that  there  is  not, 
at  least  in  my  opinion,  a  rational 
being  among  them.  I  will  sketch 
them  for  you,  my  good  sir,  and  you 
will  then  see  whether  I  am  in  the 
right  or  not. 

The  first  in  my  list  is  Sir  Peter 
Primly:  he  is  an  unexceptionably 
moral  man  ;  no  one  ever  heard  of 
his  committing  even  the  most  tri- 
fling  faux  pas.  But  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  good  actions,  if  he 
has  ever  done  any,  are  equally  se- 
cret. His  conversation  resembles 
his  life:  he  never  says  anything 
rude  or  absurd;  but  he  is  so  tire- 
some and  insipid,  that  he  wearies 
one  to  death.  Nothing  has  power 
to  animate  him  ;  he  makes  love 
with  as  much  gravity  and  preci- 
sion as  if  he  were  debating  a  mat- 
ter of  business;  and  he  argues 
against  my  cruelty,  and  talks  of 
the  pain  it  gives  him,  with  a  fri- 
gidity both  of  tone  and  manner, 
which  contrasts  most  laughably 
with  the  warmth  of  his  language. 
:  siijsle  does  he 
I  iia\  c  often 


been  tempted  to  think,  that  nature, 
in  framing  him,  had  forgotten  to 
give  him  a  heart.  As  a  proof  of 
his  want  of  feeling,  I  need  only 
cite  his  conduct  in  matters  of  cha- 
rit}^.  He  has  allotted  a  certain 
sum  for  that  purpose,  which  he 
bestows  once  in  every  }7ear  upon 
different  public  institutions;  be- 
cause, as  he  himself  says,  he  does 
not  choose  to  relieve  private  dis- 
tress, partly  for  fear  he  should  be 
imposed  on,  and  partly  because 
one  must  take  some  trouble  in  in- 
quiring out  those  sort  of  people. 

I  fancy,  Mr.  Adviser,  you  have 
enough  of  the  baronet.  The  next 
is  the  Hon.  Mr.  Dareall.  This  poor 
young  man  happened  to  be  born 
with  a  great  share  of  animal  spi- 
rits, and  a  small  stock  of  common 
sense.  While  he  was  still  very 
young,  he  learned  to  think,  that 
his  rank  in  life  required  him  to 
act  a  distinguished  part  in  society; 
and  his  whole  ambition  for  some 
years  past  has  been  to  pass  for  an 
original.  As  his  ideas  are  not  very 
clear,  he  conceives,  that  by  sur- 
passing other  people  in  folly  and 
extravagance,  by  risking  his  life 
in  pursuits  degrading  to  a  rational 
being,  and  ridiculing  religion,  be- 
cause such  an  old-fashioned  thing 
must  be  a  bore,  he  effectually  ac- 
complishes his  purpose. 

Such  is  Mr.  Dareall,  who  passes, 
however,  for  a  very  honest  hearty 
fellow,  because  he  feeds  a  host  of 
parasites,  pays  his  gaming  debts 
with  a  good  grace,  and  once  ran 
a  man  through  the  body  for  affront- 


C()RKriSPOM)£NC:B    OF    TIIR    ADVISER. 


65 


ing  a  lady,  whom,  by  the  bye,  he 
himself  afterwards  seduced. 

IVTy  third  admirer  is  a  virtuoso, 
lie  loves  me  better  than  any  thing 
but  a  shell,  a  butterfly,  or  an  Egyp- 
tian mummy:  this  last  is  I  think 
the  most  formidable  rival  I  have  in 
bis  affections.  He  is  in  reality  a 
good  -  tempered,  honest,  worthy 
man,  and,  whenever  it  is  possible 
to  divert  his  attention  from  his  fa- 
vourite pursuit,  a  pleasant  compa- 
nion; but  it  so  rarely  happens  that 
you  can  draw  his  thoughts  from 
dried  butterflies,  stuffed  animals, 
and  petrifactions,  that  I  am  cer- 
tain no  woman  of  sensibility  can 
ever  be  happy  with  him. 

My  last  lover  is  a  sort  of  being 
whom  I  hardly  know  how  to  desig- 
nate— a  kind  of  mongrel  animal, 
half  hero,  half  dandy.  Were  you 
to  see  the  pretty  thing  when  it  is 
dressed,  and  laced  up  in  its  stiff 
stays,  you  would  be  apt  to  ima- 
gine, that  it  was  sent  into  the  world 
only  to  be  looked  at,  from  the  gen- 
tleness of  its  motions,  and  the  fear 
it  seems  to  entertain  of  deranging 
its  finery.  But  if  the  merest  trifle 
displeases  the  gentleman,  no  Mars 
was  ever  half  so  furious;  and  such 
is  the  exuberance  of  his  valour, 
that  he  cannot  restrain  from  shew- 
ing it  to  women  and  children.  It  is 
not  many  days  since  he  alarmed  me 
very  seriously,  by  swearing  he 
would  run  a  hackney-coachman 
through  the  bod}',  because  he  was 
impertinent;  and  a  fine  little  girl 
who  happened  to  be  passing  at  the 
instant,  was  frightened  into  fits, 
by  the  manner  in  which  he  marched 
about,  brandishing  his  sword.  His 
conversation  exhibits  an  odd  mix- 
ture of  fashionable  foppery  and 
military  gasconade;  one  can  hard- 


ly tell  which  interests  him  most, 
the  event  of  a  battle,  or  the  rise 
of  a  new  fashion.  I  shall  have  no 
fear  of  wounding  his  feelings  by 
giving  him  his  conge,  because  I 
have  it  at  the  same  time  amply  in 
my  power  to  console  him  with  a 
present  of  a  piece  of  new  French 
silk,  which  has  been  but  just  ma- 
nufactured in  Paris,  and  is  quite 
unknown  in  this  country:  it  is  very 
well  adapted  for  under-waistcoats, 
and  I  dare  say,  in  his  opinion,  will 
suit  his  complexion  admirably. 

Such,  Mr.  Adviser,  are  the  four 
swains  from  whom  my  wise  guar- 
dian incessantly  teases meto choose 
a  husband.     I  should  have  no  he- 
sitation in  refusing  every  one  of 
them,  but  unluckily  I  am  not  yet 
of  age;  and  I  am  so  entirely  in  the 
power  of  my  guardian,  who  is  of 
a  violent  and  severe  temper,  that 
I  am  fearful  of  exasperating  him 
by    dismissing    them    all.     If  you 
could  point  out  to  me  any  way  to 
temporizewithout  committing  my- 
self, I  should  be  very  much  oblig- 
ed to  you.     Or  suppose,  Mr.  Ad- 
viser, as  I  do  not  want  quite  a  year 
of  twenty-one,  you  were  to  address 
me  yourself?     I  protest  that  is  an 
excellent  thought:  we  might  in- 
dulge in  a  harmless  flirtation,  which 
would    effectual ly    blind    guard}-, 
whose  only  object  is  to  get  me  mar- 
ried, for  fear,  as  he  often  says,  I 
should  throw  myself  away  on  some 
flighty  young  fellow.     Your  age 
and  gravity  would  be  a  sufficient 
passport  to  his  esteem,  and  by  that 
means  I  could  get  rid  of  my  other 
torments  at  once.     Do,  dear  Mr. 
Sagephiz,  come  to  my  assistance 
like  a  true  knight.     Consider,  the 
experiment  may  be  of  infinite  ser- 
vice to  a  poor  distressed  damsel, 
'K  2 


66 


PARISIAN   SKETCHES. 


and  will  cost  you  nothing  but  a  lit- 
tle time  and   a  few  compliments, 
which  will  be  amply  made  up  by 
the  opportunity  3-011  will  have  of 
labouring  in  your  vocation  ;  for  my 
guardian  has  a  large  family,  every 
one  of  whom  is  in  want  of  advice. 
Pray  then  let  me  have  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  from  you  directly,  that 
you  will  hasten  to  throw  yourself 
at  the  feet  of  j-our  perplexed 
Dulcinea. 
My  fair  correspondeut  has  for- 
gotten the  fable  of  the  boy  and  the 
frogs.  Thislove-making,  which  she 
regards  as  sport,  might  turn  out  a 
very  serious  matter  to  me.     It  is  a 
dangerous  thing  for  an  old  bache- 
lor to  become,  even  in  jest,  the  ad- 
mirer of  a  young   beauty.     The 
little  god,  whose  power  during  our 
juvenile  years  we  have  successful- 
ly combated,   is   often    malicious 


enough  to  sport  with  the  weakness 
of  our  age;  and  he  must  be  a  fool 
indeed  who  voluntarily  exposes 
himself  to  the  risk  of  being  laughed 
at  as  a  wrinkled  innamorato.  If 
Dulcinea  will  follow  my  advice, 
she  will  dismiss  her  lovers  civilly, 
but  decidedly,  at  once:  if  her 
guardian  should  be  unreasonable 
enough  to  quarrel  with  her  for  do- 
ing so,  I  offer  my  services  to  rea- 
son the  matter  with  him;  and  I  have 
no  doubt,  if  he  has  a  particle  of 
common  sense,  I  shall  convince 
him  he  is  wrong.  As  to  advising 
Dulcinea  how  to  temporize,  it  is 
an  art  of  which  I  am  ignorant;  and, 
to  say  the  truth,  I  believe  that,  in 
affairs  of  the  heart,  the  fair  sex  in 
general  have  no  great  occasion  for 
instructions  of  that  sort. 

S.  Sagephiz. 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES. 

No.  X. 

THE  TWO  CHILDREN. 

La  nature  nous  donne  la  vie  comme  on  pre'te  l'argent,  sans  fixer  le  jour  auquel  on  doit  le 
rendre. 


"  Dear  me,  sir,  what  brings  you  1 
back  again  so  soon  r"  said  Andrew 
to  me  (that  old  servant  with  whom  | 
my  readers  are  already  acquaint-  j 
ed).     "  Is  the  christening  put  off, 
thfi  child  ill,  or  the  mother  not  suf-  j 
ficiently  recovered?  or  are  you  re- 
turned merely  to  dress  yourself,  in 
order  to  assist  at  the  ceremony  ?" 
Curiosity  is  not  one  of  the  least 
faults  of  Andrew:  perhaps  he  might 
have  broken  himself  of  it,  had  it 
not  been  for  me ;  but  I  have  got  in- 
to a  habit  of  answering  his  ques- 
tions, which  emboldens  him  to  put 
o;hers :  besides,  it  is  always  in  such 
a  modest  tone  of  voice,  and  with 


such  an  air  of  interest,  that  he 
questions  me,  that  it  really  would 
be  ill  rewarding  his  faithful  services 
not  to  gratify  him. 

The  inquiries  of  Andrew  were 
justified  by  an  appearance  of  vex- 
ation visible  in  my  manner.  He 
knew  the  motive  of  my  visit,  and 
might  well  be  surprised  at  seeing 
me  return  so  soon.  My  family 
connections  were  increased  by  the 
entrance  of  two  new  members  into 
the  world,  who  had  seen  the  light 
for  the  first  time  on  the  preceding 
day.  The  Countess  de  Lescare, 
one  of  my  favourite  cousins,  and  the 
pride  of    our    house,     had    been 


IMIUSJAN    SKETCHES. 


67 


brought  to  bed  of  a  lovely  child, 
and  I  had  gone  out  to  call  on  her 
earty  in  the  morning.  I  was  also 
engaged  in  the  evening  to  offer  my 
congratulations  to  Madame  Le- 
maire,  the  wife  of  a  respectable 
tradesman  in  la  rue  des  Bourdon- 
nais,who  has, within  theeightyears 
she  has  been  married,  five  times 
received  the  same  blessing.  The 
countess  had  only  been  a  wife 
thirteen  months  :  her  expectations 
had  been  publicly  announced;  the 
epoch  of  their  fulfilment  was  to  be 
celebrated  with  all  possible  magni- 
ficence and  rejoicings;  and  it  was 
the  knowledge  of  these  circumstan- 
ces that  induced  Andrew,  on  my 
sudden  and  unexpected  return,  to 
ask  the  reason  of  the  uneasiness 
my  visit  appeared  to  have  caused 
me. 

I  am  not  the  man  to  keep  silence 
when  vexed.  Andrew  knew  this 
well  enough;  and  with  his  head 
bent  forward,  and  his  hands  cross- 
ed upon  his  breast,  my  old  servant 
patiently  waited  for  the  moment 
when  I  should  deign  to  inform  him ; 
and  an  arch  smile  which  played 
round  his  lips,  shewed  that  he 
reckoned  on  my  usual  compliance 
not  being  withheld  this  time. 

"  You  know,"  said  I,  "  that  the 
Count  de  Lescare  is  descended 
from  one  of  the  most  ancient  and 
illustrious  families  in  Perigord  ;  his 
titles  prove  the  fame  of  his  ances- 
tors;  the  public  situations  he  fills, 
and  the  rank  he  holds  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  world,  are  sufficient 
pledges  of  his  talents,  or  at  least  of 
his  good  fortune.  Yet  a  young 
man,  he  married  one  of  my  cousins, 
who  inherited  an  immense  fortune : 
notwithstanding  which,  it  was  a 
love-match  on  both  sides;  and  this 


union,  formed  under  the  most  fa- 
vourable auspices,  has  been  pro- 
ductive of  mutual  happiness.  For- 
tune can  add  delights  even  to  love. 
"The  young  couple,  surrounded 
by  gaiety  and  pleasure,  have  not 
neglected  to  cultivate  their  do- 
mestic happiness.  The  restraints 
imposed  upon  the  count  by  the 
duties  of  his  office,  by  the  laudable 
ambition  of  elevating  himself  by 
his  services  to  still  higher  employ- 
ments, and  the  care  and  anxiety 
attendant  on  that  high  soaring 
passion,  have  frequently  compelled 
him  to  absent  himself  for  a  short 
time  from  the  wife  he  adores.  But 
these  occasional  separations  have 
only  served  to  sweeten  the  moment 
of  their  reunion  ;  and  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  my  lovely  cousin 
owes  to  these  absences,  the  con- 
stancy of  an  attachment  which  has 
not  been  impaired  by  a  whole  year's 
enjoyment.  An  event  long  and 
anxiously  desired,  has  augmented 
the  tenderness  of  the  count:  his 
wife's  pregnancy  promised  to  crown 
his  dearest  wishes.  As  soon  as  it 
was  become  a  matter  of  certainty, 
he  redoubled  his  attentions  and 
solicitude  for  her  welfare;  he 
watched  her  every  movement,  lest 
she  might  fatigue  herself;  his 
friends  were  entreated  to  unite 
their  efforts  for  her  amusement,  to 
converse  in  her  presence  on  agree- 
able and  pleasing  subjects  only: 
the  precautions  of  the  count  were 
even  carried  so  far  as  to  prohibit 
the  visits  of  one  of  his  college 
friends,  on  account  of  certain  con- 
vulsive motions  he  had  contracted, 
which,  it  was  true,  the  countess  had 
never  noticed,  but  which  might 
by  possibility  be  prejudicial  to  her 
in  her  present  state.     The  count's 


(38 


PARISIAN   SKETCHES. 


hopes  were  set  upon  having  a  son. 
I  do  not  know  why  lie  had  accus- 
tomed himself  to  believe  that  his 
wish  would  be  gratified,  but  during 
the  last  six  months  he  has  appa- 
rently been  allowing  the  idea  to 
gain  ground,  till  the  very  suppo- 
sition of  itsnon-fulfilment  has  been 
banished.  He  consulted  all  the 
most  learned  physicians  in  Paris, 
and  their  ambiguous  replies  have 
in  variably  been  favourably  constru- 
ed by  him. 

"  A  celebrated  necromancer,  who 
spread  his  nets  for  thepublicnotfar 
from  her  hotel,  was  privately  inter- 
rogated by  the  credulous  countess, 
who  paid  in  hard  cash  for  his  pre- 
diction, that  she  would  give  birth 
to  one  of  the  finest  boys  in  the 
world.  You  may  imagine,  that, 
with  so  many  assurances  of  success, 
the  choice  of  godfathers  became  a 
matterof  no  small  difficulty.  They 
could  only  be  selected  of  course 
from  among  the  principal  noblemen 
of  the  court,  but  much  prudence 
and  consideration  were  necessary 
to  give  to  the  family  a  protector, 
and  to  the  child  a  powerful  patron. 
Vanity  and  interest  were  to  be 
blended;  a  union  much  more  diffi- 
cult than  it  is  generally  supposed. 
"  Three  times  was  the  godfather 
determined  upon,  and  as  often  was 
an  alteration  obliged  to  be  made, 
from  causes  which  could  neither 
be  foreseen  noravoided.  The  first 
suddenly  withdrew  from  court; 
the  second  was  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Opposition;  and  much 
doubt  was  entertained  in  public  as 
to  the  stability  of  the  favour  enjoy- 
ed by  the  third  At  length  their 
choice  fell  upon  the  young  Mar 
shal  ****:  wealth,  rank,  and  inter- 
est,    he  possessed  them    all,  and 


much  might  reasonably  be  expect- 
ed from  the  union  of  three  such  im- 
portant advantages. 

"Thenearerthe  countessdrew  to 
her  time,  the  higher  rose  the  satis- 
faction of  the  count.  I  saw  him 
the  night  before  last,  when  his 
wife  was  already  in  bed;  he  was 
absolutely  beside  himself  with  joy. 
The  countess  shared  his  trans- 
ports; she  endured  her  pains  with 
the  most  exemplary  resignation, 
and  had  very  nearly,  in  the  excess 
of  her  joy,  declared  her  resolution 
to  nurse  this  her  first  child  herself. 

"I  went  there  again  this  morning: 
a  long  string  of  carriages,  and  par- 
ticularly the  confusion  which  pre- 
vailed in  the  hotel,  soon  informed 
me,  that  the  countess  had  become 
a  mother.  Crossing  the  anticham- 
ber,  I  met  her  own  waiting-maid,  of 
whom  I  inquired  how  her  mistress 
did.  Her  half-serious  air  alarmed 
me,  but  I  was  soon  made  easy. 
'  The  countess,'  replied  Justine, 
'  is  doing  as  well  as  can  be  ex- 
pected.'— '  And  the  child?"  con- 
tinued I,  observing  that  her  coun- 
tenance still  preserved  a  sorrowful 
expression.  — '  Alas!  the  child,' 
replied  she,  sighing — '  the  child  is. 
as  well  as  its  mother;'  and  with- 
out waiting  for  any  further  ques- 
tions, she  hastened  back  again  into 
her  mistress's  room  :  her  words, 
however,  had  quieted  my  fears.  I 
ordered  the  servant  to  inform  the 
!  count  of  my  arrival,  and  on  his  ap- 
j  pearance,  hastened  to  congratu- 
late him  on  the  happy  event  that 
had  just  taken  place.  'Ah!  my 
friend,'  interrupted  he,  '  pity 
me:  it  is  a  girl!'  — (  A  girl!' — 
'  The  countess,  as  well  as  myself, 
is  in  despair.'  — '  How!  is  any 
thing  the  matter  with  the  infant  ?' — 


lMKISMN   SKKTCffKS. 


09 


*  On  the  contrary,  she  is  perfect- 
ly well,  unci  tliey  say  she  is  a  little 
angel:  but,  my  clear  friend,  only 

think  of  our  having  a  girl  !"  and 
the  count  appeared  quite  inconsol- 
able. 

"  I  was  introduced  to  the  coun- 
tess's levee  :  she  was  in  her  state 
bed,  dressed  in  a  beautiful  cap  of 
English  lace,  which  became  her 
wonderfully.  '  Ah!  my  clear  cou- 
sin,' exclaimed  she,  in  a  mournful 
tone,  *  you  are  come  to  console 
me!'  And  as  I  could  not  help  be- 
traying some  surprise  at  this  unex- 
pected address,  '  You  are  then 
still  ignorant  of  our  misfortune: 
we  have  only  a  girl  !' — '  At  your 
age  such  a  misfortune  is  not  irre- 
parable.'— *  My  husband  is  quite 
in  despair:  we  had  formed  such 
excellent  plans  for  the  future  des- 
tiny of  a  boy;  his  godfather  had 
promised  so  much  ;  and  after  all  to 
be  so  cruelly  disappointed.'  At 
that  moment  the  child,  which  was 
in  the  room,  began  to  he  restless, 
and  her  mother,  whose  absurd  grief 
was  augmented  by  its  cries,  order- 
ed the  nurse  to  be  lodged  in  future 
at  the  other  end  of  the  building. 

"  The  valet  de  chambre  of  the 
marshal  came  to  present  his  mas- 
ter's compliments  to  the  countess, 
and  to  apologize  for  his  excellen- 
cy being  obliged,  on  account  of 
some  very  important  business,  to 
postpone  until  the  next  day  the 
visit  he  intended  to  pay. 

"  What  a  propensity  every  one 
has  to  imitate  their  superiors  !  All 
the  servants  in  the  hotel  aped  the 
distress  of  their  master  and  mis- 
tress; every  countenance  wore  a 
melancholy  aspect;  and  just  as  I 
was  leaving  the  house,  I  heard  the 
Swiss  say  to  a  smart  little  footman, 


who  had  been  inquiring,  for  his 
mistress's  information,  after  the 
welfare  of  the  countess,  '  My 
friend,  you  may  say  that  my  mis- 
tress has  been  brought  to  bed  to 
no  purpose :  she  has  only  got  a 
girl!'  " 

"  I  can  now  easily  imagine  the 
reason  of  your  chagrin  and  prompt 
return,"  said  Andrew.  "  The  count 
is  not  deserving  of  the  happiness 
of  being  a  parent,  since  he  makes 
so  vast  a  difference  between  the 
child  he  desired,  and  that  which  it 
has  pleased  Heaven  to  send  him. 
But  since  you  are  in  a  visiting 
mood,  why  not  go  directly  and 
call  upon  M.  Lemaire  ?  Perhaps 
you  may  find  at  his  house  a  scene 
more  congenial  to  your  feelings — a 
happier  father,  and  a  more  tender 
mother." 

I  followed  Andrew's  advice,  and 
walked  to  la  rue  des  Bourdonnais. 
M.  Lemaire,  who  is  a  distant  re- 
lation of  mine,  is  about  thirty- two 
years  of  age,  simple  and  good 
tempered,  void  of  envy  or  ambi- 
tion, carrying  on,  with  credit  and 
probity,  a  small  trade  in  silk  stuffs, 
which  brings  him  in  just  sufficient 
to  maintain  and  educate  his  fami- 
ly. He  married  a  young  woman  of 
a  respectable  family,  and  who  had 
received  an  excellent  education; 
and  in  her  he  has  met  with  an 
amiable  wife,  and  a  useful  assist- 
ant in  his  business.  She  has  made 
him  the  father  of  four  sons,  all  of 
whom  she  has  nursed  herself,  and 
who  share  her  affections  alike. 
Lemaire  and  his  wife  were  anxious 
to  have  a  daughter,  and  Louisa's 
situation  renewed  their  hopes;  but 
fearing  to  be  again  disappointed, 
they  had  forborne  to  calculate  up- 
on an  uncertainty. 


70 


ROB  RUT    BURNS  AND   HELEN   MARIA   WILLIAMS. 


The  shop  was  shut  up  as  on  a 
festival,  which  appeared  to  me  a 
good  omen.  Going  up  stairs,  I 
heard  loud  peals  of  laughter  in  my 
cousin's  room ;  and  I  naturally 
concluded  that  he  had  been  more 
fortunate  than  the  count  in  the 
fulfilment  of  his  wishes.  1  was 
obliged  to  knock  twice,  the  mirth 
which  reigned  within  not  permit- 
ting any  one  to  hear  me.  At  last 
I  was  ushered  into  tbe  chamber  of 
madame,  whose  husband  hastened 
to  meet  me,  presenting  to  me, 
while  joy  shone  in  his  counte- 
nance, the  little  stranger.  "  Look 
here,"  said  he,  "  here  is  another ! 
I  was  in  the  right  not  to  give  myself 
up  to  false  hopes.  Heaven  has  re- 
solved to  give  me  boys  only  ;  let 
me  present  tbe  fifth  to  you." — 
"  What,  again  !" — "  Yes,  another 
boy,"  said  Louisa,  smiling,  and 
raising  her  head  from  the  pillow. 
— "  I  thought  by  your  joyf illness 

, " — «  That  he  was  welcome; 

and  you  were  right.  I  believe,  in 
truth,"  added  she,  laughing,  "  tbat 
he  will  be  the  plainest  of  the  fami- 
ly. But  what  signifies  tbat  ?  I  shall 
not  love  him  the  less;"  and  taking 
him  from  her  husband,  she  kissed 
him  affectionately,  and  laid  him 
down  by  her  side. 

The  godfather  now  made  his  ap- 
pearance, an  old  friend  of  the  fa- 
mily, who  had  offered  himself.    He 


had  just  come  from  la  rue  des 
Lombards,  and  arrived  laden  with 
boxes  of  sweetmeats  and  cakes  of 
all  sorts.  He  had  put  off  every 
other  engagement,  to  spend  the  day 
with  a  family  to  whom  he  was  at- 
tached, and  with  whom  he  was 
about  to  be  united  by  one  of  those 
ties,  which,  if  not  totally  neg- 
lected, are  not  sufficiently  respect- 
ed in  the  present  da}'. 

The  infant  had  already  been  to 
church  and  to  the  municipality  ; 
dinner  was  announced, and  I  yield- 
ed to  their  pressing  entreaties  to 
stay  and  partake  it  with  them. 
Madame  Lemaire,  unwilling  to  be 
deprived  of  our  society,  ordered 
the  cloth  to  be  laid  by  her  bed- 
side; and  ourrepast,  seasoned  with 
innocent  gaiety  and  cheerful  con- 
versation, lasted  the  greater  part 
of  the  afternoon.  In  the  evening, 
I  could  not  help  remarking  to  An- 
drew, the  pleasure  I  had  experien- 
ced from  the  picture  of  domestic 
happiness  I  had  just  beheld,  and 
the  difference  between  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  two  families  had 
borne  the  disappointment  of  their 
wishes.  I  was  going  to  make  a 
long  harangue  upon  the  reasons  of 
this  striking  contrast,  when  he  stop- 
ped me,  saying,  "  Dear  sir,  nothing 
can  be  more  easy  to  explain :  one 
desired  an  heir;  the  other  only 
wished  for  a  c/»'W." 


ROBERT  BURNS  AND  HELEN  MARIA  WILLIAMS. 


The  two  following  articles  form 
part  of  a  selection  from  the  un- 
published Correspondence  of  Ro- 
bert Burns.  The  Jirst,  a  letter 
from  the  celebrated  Helen  Maria 
Williams  to  the  poet,  relates  chief- 
ly to  some  occasional  verses  by  Dr. 


Moore,  not  now  in  our  possession, 
and  about  which  it  does  not  seem 
necessary  to  inquire  more  particu- 
larly. The  second  is  a  criticism  by 
Burns  upon  a  poem  of  Miss  W.'s, 
which  it  appears  she  had  submit- 
ted to  his  opinion.     The  critique, 


ROBERT    BURNS    AND    HLLKN    MARIA    WILLIAMS. 


:\ 


though  not  without  some  traits  of 
his  usual  sound  judgment  and  dis- 
crimination, appears  on  the  whole 
to  be  much  in  the  strain  of  those 
gallant  and  flattering  responses 
which  men  of  genius  usually  find 
it  incumbent  to  issue,  when  con- 
sulted upon  the  productions  of  their 
female  admirers. 


Sir, — Your  friend  Dr.  Moore 
having  a  complaint  in  his  eyes,  has 
desired  me  to  become  his  secretary; 
and  thank  you,  in  his  name,  for 
your  very  humorous  poem,  entitled 
Auld  Willie's  Prayer,  which  he  had 
from  Mr.  Creech. 

I  am  happy  in  this  opportunity 
of  expressing  my  obligations  to 
you  for  the  pleasure  your  poems 
have  given  me.  I  am  sensible 
enough,  that  my  suffrage  in  their 
favour  is  of  little  value;  yet  it  is 
natural  for  me  to  tell  you,  that  as 
far  as  I  am  capable  of  feeling  po- 
etical excellence,  I  have  felt  the 
power  of  your  genius.  I  believe 
no  one  has  read  oftener  than  my- 
self, your  Vision,  your  Cotter-'' s 
Evening,  the  Address  to  the  Mouse, 
and  many  of  your  other  poems. 
My  mother's  family  is  Scotch,  and 
the  dialect  has  been  familiar  to  me 
from  my  infancy:  I  was  therefore 
qualified  to  taste  the  charm  of  your 
native  poetry;  and  as  I  feel  the 
strongest  attachment  to  Scotland, 
I  share  the  triumph  of  your  coun- 
try in  producing  your  laurels. 

I  know  the  inclosed  poems,  which 
were  addressed  to  me  by  Dr.  Moore, 
will  give  you  pleasure;  and  I  shall 
therefore  risk  incurring  the  impu- 
tation of  vanity  by  sending  them. 
I  own  that  I  gratify  my  own  pride 
by  so  doing.  You  know  enough 
of  his  character  not  to  wonder  that 

ViilX.  No.LVl. 


I  am  proud  of  his  friendship;  and 
you  will  not  be  surprised,  that  he 
who  can  give  so  many  graces  of 
wit  and  originality  to  prose,  should 
be  able  to  please  in  verse,  when 
he   turns    his   thoughts   that  way. 
One  of  these  poems  was  sent  to  me 
lastsummer  from  Hamilton-House; 
the  other  is  so  local,  that  you  must 
take  the  trouble  to  read  a  little  his- 
tory before  you  can  understand  it. 
My  mother  removed  lately  to  the 
house  of  a  Captain  Jaquesin  South- 
ampton-row,  Bloomsbury-square. 
What  endeared  this  situation  not 
a  little  to  m}'  imagination  was,  the 
recollection  that  Gray  the  poet  had 
resided  in   it.     I  told  Dr.  Moore 
that   I    had    very  solid   reason    to 
think  that  Gray  had   lived   in  this 
very  house,  and  had  composed  the 
Bard  in  my  little  stud}' :  there  were 
but  fifty  chances  to  one  against  it, 
and  what  is  that  in  poetical  calcu- 
lation ?  I   added,  that   I  was  con- 
;  vinced  that  our  landlord  was  a  li- 
|  neal   descendant  of  Shakspeare's 
I  Jaques.     Dr.  Moore  laughed,   as 
he  has  often  occasion  to  do,  at  my 
folly;  but  the  fabric  which  m}-  fan- 
cy had  reared  upon  the  firm  sub- 
stantial air,  soon   tottered;    for   it 
became  a  matter  of  doubt  if  our 
I  habitation    was   in    Southampton- 
!  row,  or  in  King-street,  which  runs 
|  in  a  line  with  it.    Meanwhile  Dr. 
j  Moore  called  upon   me,   and  left 
j  the  inclosed  verses  on  my  table. 

It  will  give  me  great  pleasure, 
|  sir,  to  hear  that  you  find  your  pre- 
sent retirement  agreeable,  for  in- 
deed I  am  much  interested  in  your 
,  happiness.     If  I  only  considered 
the  satisfaction  I  should  derivefrom 
your  acquaintance,  I  should  wish 
,  that  your  fortune  had  led  you  to- 
wards  London  ;  but  I  am  persua- 
L 


.ROBERT    BURNS   AND    HELEN    MARIA    WILLIAMS- 


decl  that  you  have  had  the  wisdom 
to  choose  the  situation  most  conge- 
nial to  the  Muses.  I  am,  sir,  with 
great  esteem,  your  most  obedient 
servant,  H.  M.  Williams. 

London,  June  20,   1787. 


A  FEW  STRICTURES  ON  MISS  WIL- 
LIAMS'S  POEM  ON  THE  SLAVE 
TRADE,    BY    R.  BURNS. 

I  know  very  little  of  scientific 
criticism;  so  all  I  can  pretend  to 
in  that  intricate  art  is,  merely  to 
note,  as  I  read  along,  what  passa- 
ges strike  me  as  being  uncommon- 
]y  beautiful,  and  where  the  ex- 
pression seems  to  me  perplexed  or 
faulty. 

The  poem  opens  finely.  There 
are  none  of  those  idle  prefatory 
lines,  which  one  may  skip  over 
before  one  comes  to  the  subject. 
Verses  9th  and  10th  in  particular, 

Where  ocean's  unseen  bound 

Leaves  a  drear  world  of  waters  round, 

are  truly  beautiful.  The  simile  of 
the  hurricane  is  likewise  fine;  and 
indeed  beautiful  as  the  poem  is, 
almost  all  the  similes  rise  decided- 
ly above  it.  From  verse  31st  to 
verse  50th  is  a  pretty  eulogy  on 
Britain.     Verse  36th, 

That  foul  drama  deep  with  wrong, 

is  nobly  expressive.  Verse  46th 
I  am  afraid  is  rather  unworthy  of 
the  rest: 

To  dare  to  feel, 
is  an  idea  that  I  do  not  altogether 
like.     The  contrast  of  valour  and  I 
mercy  from  the  46th  verse  to  the  j 
50th  is  admirable. 

Either  my  apprehension  is  dull, 
or  there  is  something  a  little  con- 
fused in  the  apostrophe  to  Mr.Pitt. 
Verse  55th  is  the  antecedent  to 
verses  57th  and  58th  ;  but  in  verse 
58th  the  connection  seems  ungram- 
matical: 


Powers    ********    * 
*********** 

With  no  gradations  mark'd  their  flight, 
But  rose  at  once  to  glory's  height. 

Ris'ii  should  surely  be  the  word  in- 
stead of  rose.  Try  it  in  prose. 
Powers — their  flight  marked  by  no 
gradations,  but  (the  same  powers) 
risen  at  once  to  the  height  of  glory. 
Likewise  verse  53d, 

For  this, 

is  evidently  meant  to  lead  On  the 
sense  of  verses  59th,  60th,  61st, 
and  62d.  But  let  us  try  how  the 
thread  of  connection  runs. 

For  this    ********* 

#*#-**»      ###♦      *     « 

The  deeds  of  mercy  that  embrace 
A  distant  sphere,  an  alien  race, 
Shall  virtue's  lips  record,  and  claim 
The  fairest  honours  of  thy  name. 

I  beg  pardon  if  I  misapprehend 
the  matter,  but  this  appears  to  me 
the  only  imperfect  passage  in  the 
poem.  The  comparison  of  the 
sunbeam  is  fine. 

The  compliment  to  the  Duke  of 
Richmond  is,  I  hope,  as  just  as  it 
is  certainly  elegant.     The  thought 

Virtue     *     *      *     *     *     *     #    *     * 

************ 

Lends,  from  her  unsullied  source, 

The  gems  of  thought  their  purest  force, 

is  exceedingly  beautiful.  The  idea 
from  verse  81st  to  the  85th,  that 

The  blest  decree 

is  like  the  beams  of  morning  ush- 
ering in  the  glorious  day  of  liber- 
ty, ought  not  to  pass  unnoticed, 
norunapplauded.  From  verse  85th 
to  verse  108th,  is  an  animated  con- 
trast between  the  unfeeling  self- 
ishness of  the  oppressor  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  miser}-  of  the  cap,- 
tive  on  the  other.  Verse  S8th 
might  perhaps  be  amended  thus: 

Nor  ever  quit  her  narrow  maze. 

We  are  said  to  pass  a  bound,  but  we 
quit  a  maze.  Verse  100th  is  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  : 

They  whom  wasted  blessings  tire. 


Ror»i;uT  niniNs  and  jielln  maria  Williams. 


7,3 


Verso  110th  is,  I  doubt,  a  clash- 
ing of  metaphors  : 

To  load  a  span 

is,  I  am  afraid,  an  unwarrantable 

expression.     In  verse  114th, 

Cast  the  universe  in  shade, 

is  a  line  idea.  From  the  115th 
verse  to  the  i42d  is  a  striking  de- 
scription of  the  wrongs  of  the 
poor  African.     Verse  120th, 

The  load  of  unremitted  pain, 

is  a  remarkably  strong  expression. 
The  address  to  the  advocates  for 
abolishing  the  slave  trade  from 
verse  143d  to  verse  208th,  is  ani- 
mated with  the  true  life  of  genius. 
The  picture  of  oppression, 

While  she  links  her  impious  chain, 
And  calculates  the  price  of  pain  ; 
Weighs  agony  in  sordid  scales, 
And  marks  if  life  or  death  prevails, 

is  nobly  executed. 

What  a  tender  idea  is  in  verse 
180th  !  Indeed,  that  whole  descrip- 
tion of  home  may  vie  with  Thom- 
son's description  of  home,  some- 
where in  the  beginning  of  his  Au- 
tumn. I  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  a  stronger  expression  of  mi- 
sery than  is  contained  in  these 
verses : 

Condemn'd,  severe  extreme,  to  live, 
When  all  is  fled  that  life  can  give. 

The  comparison  of  our  distant  joys 
to  distant  objects  is  equally  ori- 
ginal and  striking. 

The  character  and  manners  of 
the  dealer  in  this  infernal  traffic, 
is  a  well  done,  though  a  horrid  pic- 
ture. I  am  not  sure  how  far  intro- 
ducing the  sailor  was  right:  for 
though  the  sailor's  common  cha- 
racteristic  is  generosity,  yet,  in  this 
case,  he  is  certainly  not  only  an 
unconcerned  witness,  but,  in  some 
degree,  an  efficient  agent  in  the 
business.  Verse  224th  is  a  ner- 
vous — —  expressive: 

The  heart  convulsive  anguish  breaks. 


The  description  of  the  captive 
wretch  when  he  arrives  in  the  West 
Indies,  is  carried  on  with  equal 
spirit.  The  thought  that  the  op- 
pressor's sorrow  on  seeing  his  slave 
pine,  is  like  the  buteher's  regret 
when  his  destined  lamb  dies  a  na- 
tural death,  is  exceedingly  fine. 

I  am  got  so  much  into  the  cant 
of  criticism,  that  I  begin  to  be 
afraid  lest  I  have  nothing  except 
the  cant  of  it;  and  instead  of  elu- 
cidating my  author,  am  only  be- 
nighting m}'self:  for  this  reason 
I  will  not  pretend  to  go  through 
the  whole  of  the  poem.  Some  few 
remaining  beautiful  lines,  how- 
ever, I  cannot  pass  over.  Verse 
280th  is  the  strongest  description 
of  selfishness  I  ever  saw;  the  com- 
parison in  verses  285th  and  286th, 
is  new  and  fine;  and  the  line, 

Your  alms  to  penury  you  lend, 

is  excellent. 

In  verse  317th  "  like"  should 
surely  be  "  as,"  or  "so;"  for  in- 
stance, 

His  sway  the  barden'd  bosom  leads 
To  cruelty's  remorseless  deeds  : 
As  (or  so)  the  blue  lightning,  when  it  springs 
With  fury  on  its  livid  wings, 
Daris  to  the  goal  with  rapid  force, 
I    Nor  heeds  that  ruin  marks  its  course. 

If  you  insert  the  word  like  where 
j  I  have  placed  as,  you  must  alter 
!  darts  to  darting,  and  heeds  to  heed- 
i  iu<>\  in  order  to  make  it  grammar. 
,  A  tempest  is  a  favourite  subject 
1  with  the  poets,  but  I  do  not  re- 
!i  member  any  thing,  even  in  Thom- 
jj  son's  Wilder,  superior  to  your  ver- 
I  ses  from  the  347th  to  the  351st.  In- 
|j  deed  that  last  simile,  beginning 
with 

Fancy  may  dress,  &c. 
and  ending  with  the  350th  verse, 
is,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  beau- 
tiful passage  in  the  whole  poem; 

L  2 


74 


A    DEBT    OF   GRATITUDE    PAID. 


it  would  do  honour  to  the  greatest  II  conscience  tells  me,  that,  for  once 
names  that  ever  graced  our  pro-  j  in  my  life,  I  have  acted  up  to  the 
fession.  I  duties  of  a  Christian — in  doing:  as 

I  will  not  beg  your  pardon,  ma-  j  I  would  be  done  by. 
dam,  for  these  strictures,   as    my  II 


A  DEBT  OF  GRATITUDE  PAID. 


The  Duke  de  S- 


was  one  of 
the  few  among  the  French  noblesse 
who  refused,  during  the  horrors  of 
the  revolution,  to  emigrate,  till 
after  the  failure  of  the  plan  for  the 
escape  of  the  royal  family;  he  then 
fled  with  his  family,  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  his  estates  be- 
came national  property,  and  were 
sold  by  public  auction. 

Property  so  disposed  of  brought 
at  that  time  very  little,  from  the 
uncertain  tenure  by  which  it  was 
to  be  held  :  the  purchaser  of  the 
duke's  was  M.  Boudin,  a  gentleman 
who  had  recently  arrived  in  Paris 
from  Languedoc,  where  he  exer- 
cised the  profession  of  an  avocat, 
and  was  looked  upon  as  a  very 
honest  man.  The  few  persons 
who  knew  him  in  Paris  supposed 
that  he  wrould  renounce  his  pro- 
fession, and  sit  down  to  enjoy  him- 
self at  his  ease  upon  the  duke's 
splendid  property ;  but,  to  their 
surprise,  he  continued  to  act  as  a 
lawyer,  and  tolive  in  a  style  suited 
to  themostmoderate  circumstances. 
His  friends  then  gave  him  credit 
for  playing  a  deep  game.  "  He  ap- 
prehends," said  they,"  that  he  may 
one  day  be  deprived  of  his  pur- 
chase, and  he  is  saving  a  fortune 
out  of  the  princely  revenues  it 
brings." 

As  people  never  have  the  less 
business  because  they  are  known 
to  be  rich,  M.  l'Avocat  Boudin 
was  very  generally  employed,  and 


soon  began  to  make  a  good  deal 
of  money  in  his  profession.  This 
circumstance  made  no  change  in 
his  simple  and  abstemious  habits, 
he  continued  to  live  as  before;  but 
it  began  to  be  whispered,  that  he 
gave  considerable  sums  away  for 
charity,  and  whenever  a  poor 
honest  man  sought  for  justice 
against  a  rich  rogue,  he  was  always 
sure  of  the  services  of  M.  Boudin 
gratis. 

A  pretty  young  widow,  whose 
jointure  was  disputed  by  her  hus- 
band's heir,  applied  to  our  avocat: 
he  took  up  her  cause  warmly,  but 
he  did  not  conceal  his  apprehen- 
sions that  she  would  lose  her  suit, 
because,  though  justice  was  clear- 
ly on  her  side,  there  were  some 
points  of  law  against  her;  and 
owing  to  this  latter  circumstance, 
the  suit  was  so  long  protracted, 
that  the  widow  and  the  avocat 
had  time  to  become  thoroughly 
acquainted,  and  the  liking  which 
each  had  conceived  for  the  other 
ripened  into  a  serious  attachment. 
At  last  the  suit  was  decided  in  fa- 
vour of  the  widow,  who  was  told  by 
every  body,  that  she  owed  this  de- 
cision solely  to  the  abilities  of  M. 
Boudin.  She  thanked  him  with 
all  the  energy  of  a  warm  and 
grateful  heart  for  the  services  he 
had  done  her.  He  disclaimed  hav- 
ing done  more  than  his  duty,  add- 
ing that  he  was  very  sorry  the 
matter  had  terminated  as  it  did. 


A    DKBT    OF    CiUATITUDF.    PAID. 


75 


**  Sorry  1"  said  the  widow  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. — "  Yes,  really  ; 
for  had  it  been  otherwise,  I  should 
have  solicited  your  acceptance  of 
my  hand,  and  all  that  I  can  in  jus- 
tice call  my  property." 

The  widow  was  silent,  but  her 
speaking  eyes  said  plainly  enough, 
"  And  why  should  you  not  solicit  it  I 
now  ?" 

Boudin  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  continued:  "  I  am  re- 
garded as  a  very  rich  man  ;  but  in 
reality  my  income  is  inferior  to 
what  you  may  expect.  In  pos- 
sessing myself  of  the  property  of 

the  Duke  de  S ,  I  had  no  other 

intention  than  that  of  one  day  re- 
storing it  to  him.  You  will  not 
wonder  at  my  forming  this  resolu- 
tion, when  I  have  told  you  the  ob- 
ligations I  owe  to  de  S .     I  was 

still  very  young,  in  fact  quite  a 
boy,  when  France  took  part  with 
America  in  the  struggle  which  the 
latter  had  with  the  mother  country; 
I  had  the  most  longing  desire  to 
make  a  campaign,  a  step  which  my 
parents  would  not  hear  of.  My 
enthusiasm,  however,  could  not  be 
controuled  :  I  contrived  to  escape 
from  home,  and  to  conceal  myself 
on  board  oneof  the  transport-ships 
appointed  to  carry  out  the  troops, 

of  which  the  Duke  de  S was 

commander.  As  soon  as  I  was  dis- 
covered to  be  on  board,  he  took 
me  under  his  protection,  and  tho' 
then  a  very  young  man,  he  treated 
me  with  the  kindness  of  a  father. 
My  penchant  for  fighting  was  spee- 
dily gratified,  for  an  engagement 
took  place  almost  immediately  af- 
ter we  landed ;  but  my  military  ar- 
dour had  nearly  cost  me  my  life, 
for  I  was  just  about  to  be  cut  down 
by  a  British  trooper,  when  de  S. 
who  perceived  my  danger,  rushed 


between  us,  and  received  a  wound 
in  the  breast.     His  men  succeeded 
in  bearing  him  away  from  the  field; 
but  his  recovery  was,  during  a  long 
time,    doubtful.      I    vowed    then, 
that  if  Heaven  ever  gave  me  an 
opportunity,  I  would  repay  his  ge- 
nerosity.    His  wound  healed  slow- 
ly, and  his  health  was  altogether 
so  indifferent,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  return  to  France  before  the  end 
of  the  campaign.     He  succeeded 
in   prevailing  on  me  to  return  to 
my  parents,  and  he  took  care  to 
furnish  me  with  the  means  of  doing 
it.     From  that  time  we  have  never 
met.    I  complied  with  the  desire  of 
my   friends,    and    on    my   return 
home,  applied  myself  to  the  law, 
which   I    practised    in    my   native 
province,  till  my  fears  for  the  safe- 
ty of  de  S and  his  family  in- 
duced me  to  come  to  Paris,  in  or- 
der to  try  if  I  could  be  useful  to 
him.  I  arrived  too  late;  he  had  al- 
ready emigrated,  and  his  property, 
which  was  immediately  seized,  was 
soon  afterwards  ordered  to  be  sold. 
I  had  expected  this,  and  was  pre- 
pared for  it.    I  had  some  friends 
on  whom  I  knew  I  might  rely  for 
such  pecuniary  assistance  as  would 
enable  me  to  make  up  the  required 
sum  :  I  bought  his  estates,  which 
I  have  kept  as  a  sacred   deposit; 
but  though  I  have  employed  every 
possible  means  to  trace  this  unfor- 
tunate family,  I  have  as  yet  been 
unsuccessful  :  it  is  not,    however, 
at  all  likely  that  I  shall  always  con- 
tinue so.    De    S had  several 

children;  some  of  them  must  sure- 
ly survive ;  and  I  have  taken  means, 
that,  in  case  of  my  death,  they  or 
their  descendants  shall  receive, 
undiminished,  the  patrimony  of 
mv  generous  friend." 

Boudin's  narrative  did  i|t>t  pre- 


70 


A    DEBT    OF   GRATITUDE    PAID. 


judice  him  in  the  least  in  the  opi- 
nion of  his  mistress;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  increased  the  regard  which 
she  already  had  for  him.  They 
were  married,  and  their  union  was  I 
a  very  happy  one;  although  Ma- 
dame Boudin  heard  very  often,  that 
a  great  number  of  his  female  ac- 
quaintance called  her  husband  a 
miser,  and  herself  a  mean-spirited 
creature,  for  submitting  to  live  in 
a  domestic  and  moderate  manner, 
when  she  ought  to  have  vied  with 
people  of  the  first  rank. 

Several  years  passed  awa}?,  and 
no  news  was  heard  of  the  family  of 

de  S .     The  chateau  de  S 

was  always  kept  in  good  order, 
though  not  inhabited.  One  sum- 
mer, Madame  Boudin  took  a  fancy 
to  pass  a  few  weeks  there.  Boudin 
was  obliged  to  remain  in  Paris;  and 
she  arrived,  accompanied  onl}-  by 
a  female  friend.  Just  as  she  was 
sinking  to  sleep  on  the  night  of 
her  arrival,  she  fancied  she  heard 
a  slight  noise  in  the  room  adjoining 
to  her  apartment ;  she  listened,  and 
soon  began  to  think  she  could  hear 
some  one  move.  As  she  knew  the 
room  was  not  inhabited,  this  cir- 
cumstance alarmed  her:  she  rose, 
and  wrapping  herself  in  a  cloak, 
she  took  a  light,  and  softly  open- 
ing a  door  of  communication,  ad- 
vanced into  the  apartment. 

On  entering  it,  she  perceived  a 
man,  v. ho  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  her,  sounding  the  wall.  At 
the  moment  she  perceived  him,  the 
door  by  which  she  had  entered,  shut 
hastily,  and  he  turned  quickly 
round.  "  Be  not  alarmed,  I  be- 
seech you,  madam,"  cried  he  to 
Madame  Boudin,  who,  giving  her- 
self up  as  lost,  was  nearly  sinking 
*,'iib  terror.     "  lam  not  a  robber, 


nor  is  my  purpose  an  evil  one :  pray 
be  not  thus  terrified,  for  you  have 
nothing  to  fear." 

It  was  indeed  impossible  to  look 
on  the  countenance  of  the  stran- 
ger, and  feel  any  other  sensations 
than  those  of  confidence  and  ad- 
miration. He  was  past  the  middle 
age,  and  the  traces  of  care,  as  well 
as  time,  were  visible  in  his  finely 
formed  features.  His  person  was 
noble  and  commanding,  and  his  air, 
at  once  elegant  and  dignified, 
shewed  that  the  mean  habiliments 
which  he  wore,  could  only  be  used 
as  a  disguise. 

Curiosity  now  took  place  of  ter- 
ror, but  for  some  time  the  stranger 
evaded  the  inquiries  of  Madame 
Boudin.  Kindred  minds,  however, 
are  not  long  doubtful  of  each  other; 
and  he  acknowledged,  that  his  pur- 
pose was  to  possess  himself  of  some 
valuables  which  were  concealed 
in  a  recess  behind  the  wainscot. 
These  words  were  a  ray  of  light  to 
Madame  Boudin.  "Ah,  Heaven!" 
she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  then  the 

Duke  de  S !  Oh!  how  glad  will 

my  husband  be  to  find  that  his  debt 
of  gratitude  can  still  be  paid '." 

She  was  right,  it  was  indeed  the 
duke,  whom  Boudin  had  so  long 
sought  in  vain,  and  who,  in  all 
probability,  but  for  this  fortunate 
rencontre,  he  never  would  have 
discovered.     In  making  his  escape 

from  France,.de  S had  dropped 

his  title,  and  changed  his  name: 
after  undergoing  various  misfor- 
tunes, and  drinking  deeply  of  the 
bitter  cup  of  adversity,  a  chance 
meeting  with  a  faithful  servant, 
who  was  at  the  chateau  at  the  time 
when  de  S departed  for  Eng- 
land, revealed  to  him  that  some 
jewels  which  he  had  left  in  a  cabi- 


CORONATION    CKKEMONIALS. 


77 


net  at  the  chateau,  and  which  lie 
concluded  were  lost,  had  been  se- 
creted by  this  faithful  domestic  in 
a  recess  behind  the  \v;iinscot.  The 
moment  dc  S received  this  in- 
telligence, he  determined  to  run 
every  risk  in  order  to  possess  him- 
self of  them.  He  reached  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  chateau  in 
safety,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to 
hear,  that  it  was  inhabited  only  by 
servants,  for  Madame  Boudin  was 
not  then  arrived.  He  tapt  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  house  during  the 
day,  and  at  night  contrived  to  gain 
admittance. 

An  express  soon  brought  Boudin 
to  the  chateau.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  tell  whose  happiness  was 
the  greatest,  the  duke's  in  reco- 
vering, or  the  honest  avocat's  in 
restoring  the  forfeited  estates.     De 

S would  have  forced  Boudin 

to  retain  a  part  of  the  property, 
but  the  worthy  lawyer  peremptori- 
ly refused  to  take  more  than  the 
sum  to  which  he  had  a  just  right. 
According  to  the  situation  of  pub- 
lic affairs  in  France,  de  S could 

not  then  remain  with  safety  in  his 
native  country;  but  he  returned  to 
England  rich  and  happy,  leaving 
his  property  in  the  management  of 
the  faithful  Boudin.  Not  long  af- 
terwards, the  emigrants  had  per- 


mission to  return,  and  de  S 

publicly  took  possession  of  his  es- 
tates. They  were  not,  however, 
lost  to  the   family   of  the   worthy 

avocat.  The  eldest  son  of  de  S , 

as  he  grew  up,  heard  so  much  from 
his  parents  of  Boudin's  probity, 
gratitude,  and  nobleness  of  spirit, 
that  he  thought  he  could  not  be 
too  solicitous  to  enjoy  the  society 
of  so  good  a  man.  Whether  this 
good  man's  having  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest (laughters  in  France  was  an 
additional  motive,  we  will  not  pre- 
tend to  examine,  but  it  certainly 

was  one  which  the  young  de  S 

did  not  allege  to  his  father,  till 
the  latter,  who  saw  how  matters 
were  going  on,  told  him  one  day 
abruptly,  that  he  had  selected  a 
wife  for  him.  This  drew  forth  a 
confession  of  his  attachment.     De 

S ,  after  he  had  for  a  little  while 

enjoyed  his  son's  perplexity,  em- 
braced him,  and  told  him,  such  a 
union  would  gratify  the  warmest 
wish  of  his  heart.  The  Boudins, 
on  their  part,  acceded  with  grati- 
tude and  joy  to  the  proposal.  The 
lovely  Nina  has  now  been  some 
years  a  wife,  and  her  conduct,  as 
such,  does  equal  credit  to  the  vir- 
tues of  her  father^  and  to  the  rank 
of  her  husband. 


CORONATION 

All  matters  relating:  to  corona- 
tions  are  at  the  present  moment  so 
interesting,  that  we  need  make  no 
apology  to  our  readers  for  inserting 
the  following  particulars,  from  Mr. 
A.  Taylor's  "  Glory  of  Regality," 
regarding  the  coronation  of  Hen- 
ry VIII.  and  his  royal  offspring. 
On  the  contrary,  if  we  did  not  sup 


CEREMONIALS. 

ply  some  information  on  this  splen- 
did and  interesting  ceremony,  we 
might  be  justly  charged  with  neg- 
lect, especially  when  such  ample 
means  are  before  us  in  the  work 
from  which  we  quote. 

Henry  VIII.   and    Katherine   of 

Arragon,  his  queen,  were  crowned 

!*-  on  tbe24thof  June,  1509.bv  Arch- 


78 


CORONATION    CEREMONIALS. 


bishop  Warham.  A  short  abstract 
of  Hall's  account  of  the  festival 
will  serve  to  shew  the  prodigious 
splendour  with  which  it  was  cele- 
brated. 

On  the  21st  of  the  month,  the 
king  came  from  Greenwich  to  Lon- 
don ;  and  the  next  day  was  devoted 
to  the  ceremonies  of  the  Bath.    Our 
author  then  proceeds  :  "  The  mo- 
rovve   folovvyng   beyng    Saterdaie, 
his  grace  with  the  queue  departed 
from  the  Tower  through  the  citie 
of  London,  agaynst  whose   com- 
rning,  the  streates  where  his  grace 
should   passe  where  hanged  with 
tapistrie  and  clothe  of  Arras.     And 
the  greate  parte  of  the  south  side 
of  Chepewith  clothe  of  gold,  and 
some  parte  of  Cornehill  also.    And 
the  streates  railed  and  barred  on 
the  one  side,  from  ouer  agaynst 
Grace  churche  unto   Bredstreate 
in  Chepeside,  where  euery  occu- 
pacion  stode  in  their  liueries  in  or- 
clre,    beginnyng   with     base    and 
meane  occupacions,  and  so  assend- 
yng    to    the   worshipfull    craftes: 
highest  and  lastly  stode  the  maior 
with   the    aldermen.      The    gold- 
smithes  stalles  unto  the  ende  of  the 
Okie  Chaunge  beeing  replenished 
with  virgins  in  white,  withbraun- 
ches  of  white  waxe :  the  priestes 
and  clerkes  in    riche    copes  with 
crosses  and  censers  of  silver,  with 
censying  his  grace  and  the  quene 
also  as  they  passed."     Of  the  king 
lie  adds:  "  To  discrive  his  apparell, 
his  grace  ware  in  his  upperst  ap- 
parell a  robe  of  crimosyn  velvet 
furred  with  armyns,  his  jacket  or 
cote  of  raised    gold,  the  placard 
embrowdered  with  diamondes,  ru- 
bies,   emeraudes,    greate  pearles, 
and   other   riche    stones,    a   great 
bauderike  about  his  necke  of  greate 


balasses:  the  trapper  of  his  horse 
damaske  gold  with  a  depe  purfell 
of  armyns."  The  queen  was  borne 
in  a  litter  by  two  white  palfreys, 
which  were  trapped  in  white  cloth 
of  gold;  her  person  was  "  apparel- 
ed in  white  satyn  embroudered, 
her  heeire  hanging  doune  to  her 
backe  of  a  very  great  length,  bew- 
tefull  and  goodly  to  behold,  and 
on  her  head  a  coronall  set  with  ma- 
ny riche  orient  stones. 

"  The  morowe  folovvyng  beyng 
Sondaie,  and  also  Midsomer  daie, 
this  noble  prince  with  his  quene, 
at  time   convenient,   under  their 
canabies  borne  by  the  barons  of 
the  five  portes,  went  from  the  saied 
palaice  to  Westminster  Abbey  up- 
on clothe  called  vulgarly  cloth  of 
say,  the  whiche  clothe  was  cut  and 
spoyled  by  the  rude  and  common 
people  immediately  after  their  re- 
paire  into  the  abbey,  where,  ac- 
cordyng  to  the  sacred  observaunce 
and   auncient  custome,  his  grace 
with  the   quene   were   annoynted 
and  crouned  by  the  Archebisshop 
of  Cantorbury,  with  other  prelates 
of  the  realme  there  present,  and 
the  nobilitie,  with  a  great  multi- 
tude  of  commons   of    the    same. 
After  the  whiche  solempnitie  and 
coronacion  finished,  thelordes  spi- 
rituall  and  temporall  did  to  hym 
homage,  and   returned   to   West- 
minster   Hall,    with  the    quene's 
grace,  every  one  under  their  cana- 
bies, where  by  the  lorde  marshall 
and    his  tipped   staves  was   made 
rome,  and   every  lord,  and  other 
noble  men,  accordyng  to  their  te- 
nures, before  claimed  and  vewed, 
seen,  and   allowed  by  the  lordes, 
and  other  of  his  grace's  counsayll, 
entred  into  suche  rome  and  office 
that  daie,  to  execute  their  services 


CORONATION    CEREMONIALS. 


79 


accordingly."  lie  then  describes 
the  estates  of  the  king  and  queen, 
concluding-  in  his  usual  style: 
M  What  should  I  speake  or  write 
of  the  sumpteous,  fine,  and  deli- 
cate meates  j)repared  for  this  high 
and  honorable  coronacion,  provid- 
ed for  aswel  in  the  parties  beyond 
the  sea  as  in  many  and  sundery 
places  within  this  real  me,  where 
God  so  abundantly  hath  sent  suche 
plentie  and  foyson ;  or  of  the  ho- 
norable ordre  of  the  services,  the 
cleane  handelyng  and  breaking  of 
meates,  the  ordryng  of  the  dishes, 
with  the  plentifull  abundaunce? 
.So  that  none  of  any  estate  beeyng 
there  did  lacke,  nor  no  honorable 
or  worshipfuil  persone  went  un- 
feasted." 

Our  author's  account  of  the  chal- 
lenge must  not  be  omitted.  "  The 
seconde  course  beyng  served,  in 
at  the  haule  door  entered  a  knight 
armed  at  al  poyntes,  his  bases  rich 
tissue  embroudered,  a  great  plume 
and  a  sumpteous  of  oistriche  fe- 
thers  on  his  helmet,  sittyng  on  a 
great  courser  trapped  in  tissue, 
and  embroudered  with  tharmes  of 
England  and  of  Fraunce,  and  an 
herauld  of  amies  before  hym. 
And  passj'ng  through  the  halle, 
presented  hymself  with  humble  re- 
verence before  the  kynges  maies- 
tie,  to  whom  Garter  kyng  of  he- 
ruuldes  cried,  and  said  with  a  loude 
voyce,  Sir  knight,  from  whence 
come  you,  and  what  is  your  pre- 
tence? This  knightes  name  was  Sir 
Robert  Dimmocke,  champion  to 
the  kyng  by  tenure  of  his  enherit- 
aunce.  who  answered  the  saied 
kyng  of  amies  in  effecte  after  this 
manner:  Sir,  the  place  that  I  come 
from  is  not  materiall,  nor  the  cause 
of  my  repaire  hether  is  not  con- 
VoL  X.  No.  LPL 


cernyng  any  matter  of  any  place 
or  countrey,  but  onely  this.  And 
therewithall  commaunded  his  he- 
raulde  to  make  an  Oyes :  then  saied 
the  knight  to  the  kyng  of  amies, 
Now  shal  ye  here  the  cause  of  my 
commyng  and  pretence.  Then  he 
commaunded  his  awne  herauld  by 
proclamacion  to  saie:  If  there  be 
any  persone,  of  what  estate  or  de- 
gree soever  he  be,  that  wil  saie  or 
prove  that  Kyng  Henry  the  eight 
is  not  the  rightfull  en  heritor  and 
kyng  of  this  realme,  I,  Sir  Robert 
Dimmocke,  here  his  champion,  of- 
fre  my  glove,  to  fight  in  his  quer- 
rel  with  any  persone  to  thutter- 
aunce."  The  customary  largesse 
and  the  serving  with  hippocras  are 
then  detailed  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  feast,  and  the  solemnities  of 
this  "  triumphaunt  coronacion" 
were  followed  by  justs  and  turnies 
worthy  of  this  golden  age  of  pa- 
geants. 

Lady  Anne  Boleyn,  the  second 
queen  of  this  monarch,  was  crown- 
ed on  the  1st  of  June,  1533,  being 
Whitsunday,  by  Archbishop  Crao- 
mer.  Of  this  coronation,  as  well 
as  of  the  last,  a  long  and  minute 
account  is  preserved  by  Hall,  to 
which,  as  the  circumstances  attend- 
ing them  are  generally  the  same, 
I  shall  beer  leave  to  refer  the  read- 
er.  It  was  preceded  by  a  voyage 
from  the  royal  manor  of  Green- 
wich, and  by  the  customary  crea- 
tion of  knights,  who  were  "  bathed 
and  shryven  accordyng  to  the  old 
usage  of  England."  The  proces- 
sion by  land  was  enlivened,  as  usu- 
al, by  "  marvailous  connyng  pa- 
geauntes,"  in  which  Apollo  with 
the  Muses,  and  Saint  Anne  with 
her  children,  had  each  a  conspi- 
j  cuous  place*,  the  Three  Graces 
M 


CORONATION    CEREMONIALS, 


also  took  their  stand  on  Cornhill, 
and  the  Cardinal  Virtues  in  Fleet- 
street:  nor  is  this  all;  a  fountain 
of  Helicon,  with  a  courteous  in- 
consistency, ran  Rhenish  wine,  and 
its  rival,  the  conduit  in  Cheap, 
poured  forth  claret.  In  the  coro- 
nation itself  there  is  nothing  that 
demands  our  notice:  the  feast  was 
celebrated  with  great  order  and 
marvellous  good  attendance.  The 
queen  was  seated  in  the  midst  of 
the  high  table  under  a  cloth  of 
state,  the  Countesses  of  Oxford 
and  Worcester  standing  on  either 
side.  "  At  the  table's  ende,"  saith 
our  author,  "  satte  the  Arche- 
bishoppe  of  Cauntorbury,  on  the 
right  hande  of  the  queue,  and  in 
the  myddest,  betwene  the  arche- 
bishoppe  and  the  Countesse  of  Ox- 
ford, stode  the  Erie  of  Oxford e 
with  a  white  staffe  all  diner  t}rme." 
The  king,  with  divers  ambassadors, 
stood  to  behold  the  entertainment 
in  a  little  closet  which  was  made 
"  out  of  the  cloyster  of  S.  Ste- 
phens," on  the  right  hand  side  of 
the  hall.  The  largess,  the  wafers 
and  hippocras,  and  the  "  voyde  of 
spice  and  comfettes,"  concluded 
the  royal  banquet;  and  the  lord 
mayor  of  London,  having  done  the 
service  of  his  city,  and  "  bearyng 
his  cuppe  in  his  hande,  with  his 
brethren,  went  through  the  hal  to 
their  barge,  and  so  did  all  other 
noble  men  and  gentlemen,  for  it 
was  sixe  of  the  clocke." 

Of  the  other  queens  of  Hen- 
ry VIII.  none  appear  to  have  been 
honoured  with  a  coronation. 

Edward  VI.  received  the  crown 
on  Shrove-Sunday,  February  20, 
151-6-7,  and  was  anointed  by  Arch- 
bishop Craumer.  He  was  pre- 
viously knighted  by  the  Duke  of  l! 


Somerset,  protector.  On  the  day 
before  the  coronation,  about  one 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  king- 
proceeded  from  the  Tower"  in  most 
roiall  and  goodly  wise"  towards 
his  palace  at  Westminster.  The 
line  of  streets  through  which  the 
procession  passed  was  adorned  in 
the  usual  manner,  and  many 
"  goodly  pageauntes  and  devises" 
were  displayed  for  his  welcoming. 
At  the  conduit  in  Cheap,  Valen- 
tine and  Orson  were  exhibited;  and 
at  a  certain  distance  from  thence 
stood  Sapience  and  the  Seven  Li- 
beral Sciences,  "  which  declared 
certaine  goodly  speeches,"  rather 
too  long  for  repetition.  An  epi- 
tome of  the  story  of  Jason  was 
then  produced,  which  was  followed 
by  a  number  of  other  shows,  with 
more  orations  than  the  time  per- 
mitted to  be  spoken.  But  the  choi- 
cest spectacle  of  all  was  the  ex- 
ploit of  an  Arragosan,  who  de- 
scended from  the  battlements  of 
Saint  Paul's  upon  a  rope  made  fast 
to  an  anchor  at  the  Dean's  gate,  and 
returning  up  again,  "  played  cer- 
taine misteryes  on  the  said  rope,'* 
which  appear  to  have  been  parti- 
cularly acceptable  to  the  young 
monarch  and  the  crowd  assembled. 
The  ceremonies  were  performed 
in  the  usual  manner,  not  except- 
ing the  office  of  the  mass,  which 
was  said  by  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury. At  the  feast  the  king  sat 
under  his  estate,  and  on  the  right 
hand  of  the  same  table  sat  the  pro- 
tector and  the  archbishop.  After 
the  feast,  "  it  was  ordeyned  that 
there  should  be  made  a  certain 
number  of  knights,  instead  of  the 
Bathe,  because  the  time  was  so 
short  that  the}'  could  not  be  made 
of  the  Bathe  according  to  the  ce- 


CORONATION   CF.RKMONIALS, 


81 


remonies  thereuiUoappertevning." 
Thus  ciuled  the  ceremony;  and 
on  the  morrow  there  were  holclen 
M  royall  justes  against  all  comers." 
Mary,  the  elder  daughter  of 
Henry  VIII.  and  the  first  female 
sovereign  of  this  realm,  was  crown- 
ed on  the  1st  of  October,  1553. 
The  ceremony  was  performed  by 
Stephen  Gardiner, Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, both  the  archbishops  being 
then  prisoners  in  the  Tower.  The 
progress  through  the  city  was 
marked  by  similar  exhibitions  to 
those  we  have  before  noticed.  In 
Paul's  church-yard  one  Master 
Heiwood  sat  in  a  pageant  under  a 
vine,  and  made  an  oration  in  Latin 
and  English;  and,  as  if  to  outdo 
the  flying  Arragcsan  at  the  last  co- 
ronation, we  have  here  a  Dutch- 


Archbishop  of  York,  declining  to 
officiate  because  of  the  change  in 
religion.  Oglethorpe,  it  is  said, 
was  the  only  prelate  who  could  be 
prevailed  on  to  assist  at  the  solem- 
nity, and  it  was  performed  by  him 
according  to  the  old  rites,  and 
Bishop  Bonner's  vestments  were 
borrowed  for  his  use.  Perhaps  at 
no  former  coronation  were  more 
pains  bestowed  to  testify  the  loyal- 
ty of  the  citizens  in  the  progress 
from  the  Tower  to  Westminster. 
The  age  of  pageantry  had  not  yet 

j  passed  away;  and  the  accession  of 
a"  virgin  queen"  gave  ample  scope 

!  to  the  fancy  of  those  whose  office 
it  was  to  welcome  her  appearance 

'  in  the   capital.     In  the  taste  and 

|  character  of  the  shows,  there  was, 
however,  a  remarkable  alteration, 


man  standing  on  the  weathercock  j  "  Eive  and  twenty  years  before," 


of  Paul's  steeple,  who,  holding  a 
streamer  in  his  hand  of  five  yards 
long,  and  waving  thereof,  stood 
sometimes  on  one  foot  and  shook 
the  other,  and  then  kneeled  on  his 
knees,  "  to  the  great  marvell  of  all 


an  elegant  writer  observes,  "  when 
the  mother  of  this  queen  passed 
through  London  to  her  corona- 
tion, the  pageants  exhibited  deriv- 
ed their  personages  and  allusions 
chiefly  from  pagan   mvthologv  or 


people."  On  her  majesty's  pass-  !!  classical  fiction.  But  all  was  now 
ing  Cheapside,  the  chamberlain  of  |  changed;  the  earnestness  of  reii- 
London  presented  her  with  a  purse  |  giouscontroversy  in  Edward's  time, 
of  cloth  of  gold,  containing  a  thou-  |  and  the  fury  of  persecution  since, 
sand  marks  of  gold.  ;  had  put  to  flight  Apollo,  the  Muses, 

The  ceremonies  of  the  inausru- |i  and  the  Graces:  learning;  indeed 
ration  were  performed,  it  is  said.  J!  had  kept  her  station  and  her  ho- 
nccording  to  the  old  custom,'  but  jj  nours,  but  she  had  lent  her  lamp 
we  have  no  particular  account  of |  to  other  studies,   and   whether  in 


them.  They  were  not  fully  ended 
"  till  it  was  nigh  foure  of  the  clocke 
at  night,  that  she  returned  from 
the  church." 

Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Hen- 
ry VIII.  and  Queen  Anne  Boleyn, 
was  crowned  on  Sunday, January  15, 
1558-9,  by  Dr.  Oglethorpe,  Bisbop 
of  Carlisle,  the  see  of  Canterbury 
being  then  vacant,  and  Dr!  Keath, 


the  tongue  of  ancient  Rome,  or 

modern    England,    Elizabeth    was 

hailed  in  Christian  strains,  and  as 

!  the  sovereign  of  a  Christian  coun- 

|  try."      Holinshed,    who    describes 

the  whole  of  this  procession  with 

the  greatest  minuteness,  informs  us 

that   the    companies    of   the   city 

I  "  stood  along  the  streets  one  by 

another,  inclosed  with  raileshanjj- 

M    2 


82 


AN  lit' DOTE    OF   THF.    LATE    DUKK    DK    RKRRI. 


ed  with  cloths,  and  themselves  well 
apparelled  with  manie  rich  furres, 
and  their  liverie  hoods  upon  their 
shoulders  in  comelie  and  seemlie 
maner,  having  hefore  them  sundrie 
persons  well  apparelled  in  silks 
and  chains  of  gold;  as  wiflers  and 
garders  of  the  said  companies,  be- 
sides a  number  of  rich  hangings, 
as  well  of  tapistrie,  arras,  cloths 
of  gold,  silver,  velvet,  damaske, 
sattin,  and  other  silks,  plentifullie 
hanged  all  the  waie,  as  the  queenes 
highnesse  passed  from  the  Tower 
thorough  the  citie."  To  crown 
the  whole,  on  her  arrival  at  Tem- 


ple Bar,  Gogmagog  and  Corineus, 
two  giants  furnished  accordingly, 
were  seen  holding  above  the  gate 
a  table  whereon  was  written  in  Latin 
verse,  "  the  effect  of  all  the  pa- 
geants which  the  citie  before  had 
erected/'  It  is  singular,  that  with 
so  full  an  account  of  the  prepara- 
tory solemnities,  we  have  none  of 
the  great  ceremony  itself:  even 
the  feast  is  but  slightly  noticed  by 
our  author;  perhaps  it  is  enough 
for  us  that  it"  tookeend  with  great 
joy  and  contentation  to  all  the  be- 
holders." 


ANECDOTE  OF  THE  LATE  DUKE  DE  BERRI. 


As  the  late  Duke  de  Berri  was 
one  day  driving  in  an  open  carri- 
age, with  very  few  attendants-,  in 
the  environs  of  Paris,  he  perceived 
a  man  strugglingviolently  to  break 
away  from  some  others  who  held 
him.  The  frantic  gestures  of  the 
man,  and  the  agitation  which  he 
evinced,  excited  the  duke's  curi- 
osity: he  left  his  carriage,  and  de- 
siring his  attendants  not  to  follow 
him,  approached  the  group;  as 
he  did  so,  he  heard  the  man  say  to 
those  who  held  him,  "  It  is  of  no 
use  to  try  to  prevent  me,  I  will 
drown  n^self." — "  Drown  j'our- 
self !"  repeated  the  duke  :  "  unfor- 
tunate, wicked  man,  what  can  in- 
duce you  to  think  of  taking  away 
your  life?"  —  "  My  distress."  — 
"  No  distress  can  authorize  you  to 
put  an  end  to  your  being.  Have 
you  no  family,  no  friends  ?" — 
"  Alas!  yes,  I  have  a  wife  and 
children." — "  And  you  have  no 
regard  for  them  !" — "  Regard  for 
them !"  repeated  the  man  fiercely  : 
"  it  is  because  I  do  regard  them 


that  I  am  determined  to  die,  for  I 
cannot  bear  to  live,  and  see  them 
perish  by  famine." — "  But  you  are 
young  and  strong,  why  not  work 
to  support  them?" — "  Because  I 
can  get  no  work ;  I  have  tried  for 
it  a  long  time  in  vain:  besides,  I 
owe  five  and  twenty  crowns;  my 
creditors  pursue  me  in  order  to 
lodge  me  in  gaol,  where  I  must 
see  my  wife  and  children  perish 
with  hunger." 

That  terrible  idea  seemed  to 
give  him  new  strength;  he  burst 
from  the  grasp  of  his  companions, 
protesting  that  he  would  fell  to  the 
earth  the  first  who  approached  him. 
At  that  moment,  a  young  woman, 
followed  by  two  infant  children, 
ran  at  full  speed  towards  the 
group:  at  sight  of  her  the  man 
shuddered,  and  remained  motion- 
less. "  Heaven  be  praised,"  cried 
she,  "  I  am  come  in  time  to  pre- 
vent your  cruel  purpose  !  Ah,  An- 
toine  !  how  could  you  think  of 
leaving  me  and  the  children?  No; 
if  it   be  God's  will   that  we  uiust 


Till*    CFvNKROUS    LOVER. 


u 


perish,  let   us  wait   our   time  pa-  i 
tiently,  and  at  least  die  together."  \ 
At  these  words  the  firmness  of  the 
unhappy     husband    relaxed ;     he  j 
burst  into  tears.     The  eyes  of  the  j 
duke  were   not   dry.     "   No,    my 
friends,"  cried  he,  "  Heaven  will 
not  permit  you  to  perish;"  and  he 
put  his    purse   into    the   woman's 
hand.    "     Pay     the     twenty  -  five 
crowns  out  of  this;  the  remainder 
will  clothe  your  family." 

"  Oh  !  sir,"  cried  they  both  to- 
gether, "  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  giving  us:  this  purse  con- 
tains a  fortune." — "  It  is  a  very 
small  fortune  then,"  said  the  duke, 
turning  to  go  away. — "  May  Hea- 
ven bless  you!  it  will  be  the  mak- 
ing of  us.  Ah!  if  you  would  add 
one  more  favour." — "  What  is  it?" 
— "  If  you  would  tell  us  your 
name."  — "  I  am  a  Frenchman: 
what  signifies  my  name?" — ff  Yes, 
it,  would  signify  to  us  and  to  our 
children,  whom  we  shall  teach  to 


pray  for  our  benefactor." — "  Well 
then,  since  you  will  know  it,  it  is 
Charles;"  and  the  duke  hastened 
to  his  carriage;  but  before  he  could 
reach  it,  his  livery  was  recognised, 
and  his  secret  consequently  be- 
trayed. We  may  easily  conceive 
the  gratitude  and  enthusiasm  with 
which  the  poor  man  and  his  com- 
panions shouted,  "  Vive  le  Due 
de  Berri !"  and  never  perhaps  were 
those  sounds  more  delightful  to 
his  generous  heart.  His  bounty 
was  well  bestowed:  the  object  of 
it  was  honest  and  industrious  ;  it 
was  want  and  despair  alone  that 
drove  him  to  the  rash  resolution 
which  he  had  adopted.  He  used 
the  duke's  money  carefully  and 
frugally,  and  was  soon  in  a  fair 
way  to  do  well.  It  is  a  fact,  ho- 
nourable to  human  nature,  that 
this  poor  man's  excessive  sorrow, 
when  he  learned  the  dreadful 
fate  of  his  benefactor,  nearly  un- 
settled his  reason. 


THE  GENEROUS  LOVER: 
A   Tale,  from  the  Spanish  of  CfcUVANTr.*. 

(Concluded  from  vol.  IX.  p.  33S.) 

And  they  had  every  reason   to  j   is  himself  on  board  r"  The  soldiers 
believe  it  was  a  Christian  cruiser,  j  of  the  viceroy  desired  them  in  re- 


all  its  banners  displaying  the  en- 
sign of  the  cross.  It  approached 
the  vessel  of  Azan  ;  but  previously 
to  boarding,  hailed  them,  demand- 
ing in  Turkish  to  whom  the  ship 
belonged  :  they  were  answered, 
"  To  Azan  Bashaw,  the  Viceroy  of 
Cyprus." — "  And  how  then  dare 
you,  who  are  Musselmans, "replied 
the  captain  of  the.  first  vessel, 
"  presume  to  attack  and  pltinder 
this  brigartine,  which  we  know  be- 
longs to  the  Cadi  of  Nico>ia.  who 


turn  not  to  interfere,  for  that  in  so 
doing,  they  had  only  obeyed  the 
orders  of  their  master.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  vessel  which  had  hung 
out  Christian  colours,  having  thus 
obtained  the  information  he  want- 
ed as  to  the  ship  in  which  were  the 
cadi  and  his  suite,  instantly  board- 
ed at  the  head  of  his  men  with 
great  gallantry.  The  cadi  no  soon- 
er beheld  him,  than  he  recognised 
!  him,  notwithstanding  his  disguise, 
■' to  be  Al.i  Bashaw,  who  had  waited 


u 


THE   GENER0t7S   LOVER. 


to  intercept  him  on  his  passage 
with  the  same  design  as  Azan,  and 
the  better  to  avoid  detection,  had 
assumed  the  Christian  dress,  and 
caused  his  soldiers  to  do  the  same. 
The  unfortunate  old  man  seeing 
himself  thus  assailed  on  all  sides, 
resorted  in  despair  to  the  only  wea- 
pons with  which  he  could  now  hope 
to  defend  himself — expostulations 
and  threats.  "  What  do  I  see?" 
cried  he,  addressing  himself  to  Ali; 
"  is  it  possible  that  you,  a  Mussel- 
man,  dare  offer  violence  to  a  teach- 
er of  your  faith?  Yes,  traitor,  I 
know  you  well,  though  under  the 
accursed  disguise  of  a  Christian. 
And  you,  ye  traitorous  slaves  of 
Azan,  what  wicked  demon  can 
have  induced  you  to  commit  such 
an  impious  action  ?  To  satisfy  the 
brutal  lust  of  your  master,  you 
have  dared  rebel  against  your  so- 
vereign." 

These  words,  uttered  with  bold- 
ness and  in  a  threatening  tone  of 
voice,  at  first  produced  all  the  ef- 
fect the  cadi  could  have  anticipat- 
ed. The  soldiers  laid  down  their 
arms,  and  notwithstanding  their 
avidity  for  plunder,  were  struck 
with  awe,  and  remained  motionless. 
Ali  alone  despised  the  menaces  of 
the  cadi,  and  resolute  not  to  give 
up  his  prey  for  mere  words,  rushed 
forwards,  and  aimed  such  a  terrible 
blow  at  him,  that  but  for  the  ample 
folds  of  his  turban  he  had  cleft 
his  head  in  sunder;  so  forcible  was 
the  stroke,  that  though  the  sword 
scarcely  penetrated  the  turban,  the 
cadi  fell  backwards  on  one  of  the 
benches  of  the  vessel.  Stunned 
as  he  was,  he  had  yet  strength  to 
exclaim,  "  Cruel  renegade!  foe  to 
the  Prophet!  is  it  possible  that 
Heaven   will    suffer  thy   barbarity 


and  insolence  to  pass  unpunished!' 
Is  it  possible  that  the  followers  of 
my  faith  will  calmly  behold  an 
apostate  wretch  like  thee  murder 
the  minister  of  Mahomet,  and  tread 
under  foot  the  holy  laws  of  the 
Alcoran  and  the  religion  you  pro- 
fess?" 

The  soldiers  of  Azan,  who  saw 
all  that  passed,  fearing  to  be  de- 
prived of  the  booty  they  had  al- 
ready obtained,  rushed  forward 
with  one  accord,  as  if  inspired  by 
the  cadi's  words,  and  attacked  the 
soldiers  of  Ali  with  such  fury,  that 
though  inferior  in  number,  they 
drove  them  out  of  the  brigantine 
with  great  slaughter;  but  the  latter, 
reinforced  by  those  who  had  hi- 
therto remained  in  the  other  ship, 
rallied  under  the  command  of  Ali, 
and  again  boarding  the  brigantine, 
after  an  obstinate  conflict,  put  al! 
their  opponents  to  the  sword,  with 
the  exception  of  two  or  three:  so 
few,  however,  of  the  victors  remain- 
ed alive,  and  those  so  dangerously 
wounded,  or  exhausted  by  their 
exertions,  that  Richard  and  Ma- 
homet, who  had  beheld  the  bloody- 
contest  from  the  poop,  resolved  to 
strike  boldly  for  theirfreedom;  and 
calling  to  the  father  of  Halima  and 
two  of  her  relations  who  had  em- 
barked with  them,  made  them  re- 
mark the  defenceless  state  of  their 
enemies.  "  What  hinders  us,'* 
they  cried,  "  from  seizing  the  op- 
portunity, and  rescuing  ourselves 
from  death  or  slavery  by  one  brave 
effort?" 

Seizing  the  sabres  of  those  who 
had  fallen,  they  accordingly  rushed 
on  deck,  and  being  joined  by  the 
Christian  slaves  whom  they  had  set 
at  liberty,  in  a  few  minutes  re- 
mained   masters    of    the    vessel. 


VIEW    OF  PLINIANA,    ON    TH«    LAKE    OF    COMO. 


83 


Elatedwithtliis  success,  they  board- 
ed the  galley  of  Ali,  who  had  fallen 
in  the  conflict  by  the  avenging 
hand  of  one  of  the  viceroy's  sol- 
diers, found  it  almost  wholly  de- 
serted by  the  Turks,  and  reinforced 
by  the  Christian  slaves  on  board 
this  vessel,  they  met  with  but  little 
resistance  from  the  other  ship. 
Thus  victorious,  the  two  friends 
found  themselves,  by  this  sudden 
change  of  fortune,  masters  of  the 
spoils  of  a  cadi  and  two  rich  ba- 
shaws, free  themselves,  and  enjoy- 
ing the  happiness  of  having  libe- 
rated the  lovely  Leonisa.  They 
agreed  to  put  all  their  booty  on 
board  of  one  vessel,  and  chose  that 
of  Ali,  as  being  the  largest,  and  also 
because  all  the  mariners  wereChris- 
tians;  who,  exulting  in  their  re- 
covered freedom,  and  enriched  by 
the  liberality  of  the  generous  Hi- 
chard,  vowed  not  only  to  carry 
them  to  Trapani,  but  to  the  world's 
end,  if  necessary. 

Mahomet  and  Richard  then  in- 
formed Halima,  that  if  she  wished 
to  return  to  Cyprus,  it  was  in  her 
power,  and  that  they  would  present 
her  with  the  brigantine  and  one 
half  of  the  riches  she  had  em- 
barked in  it :  but  as  her  attachment 
to  Richard  was  now  her  most  pow- 
erful passion,  she  replied,  that 
she  would  follow  him  to  his  coun- 
try, embrace  his  religion,  and  if 
destiny  had  denied  her  his  love,  at 
least  preserve  his  friendship. 

Meanwhile  the  cadi  recovered 
from  his  stupor;  they  examined  his 
wounds,   and   finding    them   very 


slight,  made  him  nearly  the  same 
offer  they  had  just  done  to  Hali- 
ma. He  answered,  that  as  for- 
tune had  reduced  him  to  sucli  ex- 
tremity, he  could  only  thank  them 
for  their  generosity ;  but  that  he 
intended  to  repair  to  Constantino- 
ple, to  complain  to  his  sovereign  of 
Azan  and  Ali's  violence.  Though 
his  attachment  to  Halima  was  by 
no  means  excessive,  he  appeared 
much  concerned  at  learning  her 
determination  to  forsake  him,  and 
become  a  Christian.  "  This  is  an 
augmentation  of  my  misfortunes," 
he  exclaimed  ;  "  but  the  wisest 
!  man  must  }<ield  to  circumstances, 
not  be  discouraged  by  them." 

After  the  departure  of  the  cadi, 

I  to  whom  they  gave  up  the  brigan- 

j  tine,    with  sufficient    money  and 

j  provisions  for  his  intended  voyage, 

I  finding  the  wind  favourable,  they 

}  sunk  the  vessel  of  Azan,  and  set 

sail    for    their    beloved    country. 

Their  voyage  was  most  prosperous, 

and  in  less  than  seven  days,  they 

arrived  within  sight  of  Trapani. 

Why  should  we  attempt  to  de- 
scribe the  joyful  meeting  of  our 
lovers    with    their    relations    and 
friends  ;  enough  to  add,  that  the 
possession  of  his  adored  Leonisa, 
i;  the  blessing  of  her   parents,  and 
jl  the  applause  of  his  country,  am- 
ply rewarded  our  generous   lover 
|  for  all  his  past  perils.     Prosperity 
and   happiness  crowned   his    suc- 
ceeding years;  and  children, love- 
ly as  their  mother,  brave  and  noble 
as  their  father,  blessed  his  declin- 


ing 


lays. 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR  OF  MOUNT  SIMPLON. 

PLATE    8.— VIEW    OF   PLINIANA,    ON   THE    LAKE    OF   COMO. 


The  plate  which  we  this  month 
publish,  represents  a  very  elegant 


sidence  originally  constructed  by 
Pliny    the   Younger,    and    where 


villa,  built  upon  the  site  of  a  re-  .  formerly  appears  to  have  been  de- 


m 


VIEW    Of   PLIN1ANA,   ON    THE    LAKE    OF   COMO. 


posited  a  fine  library  of  books, 
which  he  collected  for  the  purpose 
of  further  distinguishing  his  native 
town  of  Comum,  in  what  was  an- 
ciently called  Insubria. 

Upon  the  general  beauty  of  this 
view,  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to 
speak.  -The  hill  rising  behind  the 
villa,  is  covered  with  a  variety  of 
luxuriant  foliage;  not  interfering, 
however,  too  much  with  the  pic- 
turesque effect  of  the  rugged  emi- 
nences, over  which  the  fine  cata- 
ract to  the  south  dashes  with  im- 
petuosity. The  villa  itself  is  de- 
lightfully situated,  and  may  be 
said  to  gaze  upon  itself  in  the 
transparent  mirror  of  the  lake,  with 
as  much  complacency  as  the  roses 
of  Ariosto. 

The  town  of  Como,  or  Comum, 
from  which  the  lake  derives  its 
name,  was  the  birthplace  of  se- 
veral celebrated  men.  The  elder 
Pliny,  as  well  as  the  younger,  was, 
weapprehend,  born  there, although 
the  Marquis  Maffei  contends  that 
liis  birthplace  was  Verona:  many 
inscriptions  found  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood make  mention  of  the  fa- 
mily of  both  these  illustrious  men. 
Paulus  Jovius,  the  historian  and 
panegyrist  of  Charles  V.  and  the 
two  Popes  Clement  XIII.  and  In- 
nocent IV.  were  also  born  here. 
Still  more  distinguished  than  per- 
haps any  of  the  preceding  will  be 
Canova,  who,  if  not  the  greatest, 
is  universally  admitted  to  be  one 
of  the  greatest  sculptors  among  the 
moderns.  It  deserves  notice,  that 
Signora  Leni  Perpenti,  who,  in 
1805,  rediscovered  the  art  of  mak- 
ing thread  of  the  amianthus,  and 
converting  it  into  cloth,  had  also 
her  birth  here.  Her  experiments 
for  this  purpose  employed  her  two 


years,  after  which  she  succeeded  in 
making  thread  of  such  excessive 
fineness,  as  to  be  fit  for  the  manu- 
facture of  lace.  Many  authors 
have  been  produced  by  Como,  and 
it  is  observable,  that  the  provinces 
forming  the  southern  base  of  the 
Alps,  from  the  Cervo  and  the  vaU 
lies  of  Sesia,  as  far  as  Frioul,  have 
at  all  times  produced  a  great  num- 
ber of  men  who  have  advanced  the 
arts  and  sciences.  Titian  and  Per- 
denoni  were  natives  of  Frioul. 
The  Hetrurians  were  the  most 

0 

ancient  inhabitants  of  the  environs 
of  this  town  and  its  lake;  but  they 
were  afterwards  removed  by  the 
Orobians,  who  fell  under  the  do- 
minion of  the  Romans.  Caesar 
founded  here  a  Greek  colony  ;  and 
hence  arises  the  number  of  names 
of  Greek  origin  found  in  this  part 
of  the  country.  Under  the  Ro- 
man emperors,  the  kings  of  Lom- 
bard)-, and  subsequently  under  the 
German  emperors,  Como  was  an 
important  town.  The  epoch  of 
its  greatest  splendour  was  in  the 
11th  and  12th  centuries,  when  it 
was  inhabited  by  a  powerful  nobi- 
lity, and  their  numerous  depend- 
ents. It  was  the  capital  of  the 
countries  of  Mendrisio,  Lugano, 
Bellinzoni,Valtelini,and  Bormeo; 
and  was  as  it  were  the  head-quar- 
ters of  the  party  of  the  Gibellines, 
in  the  same  way  as  Milan  was  the 
chief  support  of  the  Guelphs.  For 
two  and  twenty  years  it  suffered 
by  that  civil  war,  after  which  it  fell 
into  the  possession  of  the  family  of 
the  Visconti,  and  subsequent^' 
became  a  part  of  the  state  of  Mi- 
lan. 

Como  itself  is  the  see  of  a  bi- 
shop :  it  is  ornamented  by  a  mar- 
ble cathedral^  commenced  in  1396, 


ON    NKKDLR--WOKK. 


07 


and  not  finished  till  the  18th  cen- 
tury. There  are  also  other  church- 
es, and  some  palaces,  filled  with 
ti:ie  pictures.  Avery  important  silk- 
manufactory  is  likewise  carried  on 
here,  in  all  its  branches.  The  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  the  town  and 
the  banks  of  the  lake  are  clothed 
with  a  great  number  of  olive,  mul- 
berry, and  all  kinds  of  fruit  trees; 


and  the  eastern  shore,  towards 
Canzo,  where  it  is  protected  by 
the  mountains  from  the  north,  is 
extraordinarily  fertile.  The  greater 
part  of  the  manufacturers  of  baro- 
meters, microscopes,  spectacles, 
images,  &c.  who  travel  Switzer- 
land, Germany,  and  even  England, 
come  from  Como,  and  the  sur- 
rounding districts. 


ON  NEEDLE-WORK. 


Mr.  Editor, 

In  early  life  I  passed  eleven 
years  in  the  exercise  of  my  needle 
for  a  livelihood.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  address  your  hearers,  among 
whom  might  perhaps  be  found 
some  of  the  kind  patronesses  of 
my  former  humble  labours,  on  a 
subject  widely  connected  with  fe- 
male life  —  the  state  of  needle- 
work in  this  country. 

To  lighten  the  heavy  burthen 
which  many  ladies  impose  upon 
themselves  is  one  object  which  I 
have  in  view;  but,  I  confess,  my 
strongest  motive  is, to  excite  atten- 
tion towards  the.  industrious  sis- 
terhood to  which  I  once  belonged. 

From  books,  I  had  been  inform- 
ed of  the  fact,  that  women  have 
of  late  been  rapidly  advancing  in 
intellectual  improvement.  Much 
may  have  been  gained  in  this  way, 
indirectly,  from  that  class  of  fe- 
males for  whom  I  wish  to  plead. 
Needle-work  and  intellectual  im- 
provement are  naturally  in  a  state 
of  warfare.  But  I  am  afraid  the  root 
of  the  evil  has  not  as  yet  been 
struck  at.  Workwomen  of  every 
description  were  never  in  so  much 
distress  for  want  of  employment. 
Vol.  X.  No.  LFI. 


Among  the  present  circle  of  my 
acquaintance,  I  am  proud  to  rank 
many  that  may  truly  be  called  re- 
spectable, nor  do  the  female  part 
of  them,  in  their  mental  attain- 
ments, at  all  disprove  the  prevail- 
ing opinion  of  intellectual  pro- 
gression :  yet  I  affirm,  that  T  know 
not  a  single  family  where  there  is 
not  some  essential  drawback  to 
its  comfort,  which  may  be  traced 
to  needle-work  done  at  name,  as  the 
phrase  is  for  all  needle- work  per- 
formed in  a  family  by  some  of  its 
own  members,  and  for  which  no 
remuneration  in  money  is  received 
or  expected. 

In  money  alone  did  I  say?  I 
would  appeal  to  all  the  fair  votaries 
of  voluntary  housewifery,  whether, 
iii  the  matter  of  conscience,  any 
one  of  them  had  thought  she  had 
done  as  much  needle- work  as  she 
ought  to  have  done  Even  fancy 
work,  the  fairest  of  the  tribe!  how 
delightful  the  arrangement  of  her 
materials!  thefixingupon  her  hap- 
piest pattern,  how  pleasing  an 
anxiety!  how  cheerful  the  com- 
mencement of  the  labour  she  en- 
joins !  But  that  lady  must  be  a  true 
lover  of  the  art,  and  so  industri- 
N 


88 


ON    NEEDLE- WORK. 


ous  a  pursuer  of  a  predetermined 
purpose,  that  it  were  a  pity  her 
energy  should  not  have  been  di- 
rected to  some  wiser  end,  who  can 
affirm,  she  neither  feels  weariness 
during  the  execution  of  a  fancy 
piece,  nor  takes  more  time  than 
she  calculated  for  the  performance. 

It  is  too  bold  an  attempt  to  per- 
suade }-our  readers,  that  it  would 
prove  an  incalculable  addition  to 
general  happiness,  and  the  domes- 
tic comfort  of  both  sexes,  if  nee- 
dle-work were  never  practised  but 
for  a  remuneration  in  money?  As 
nearly,  however,  as  this  desirable 
thins?  can  be  effected,  so  much 
more  nearly  will  women  be  upon 
an  equality  with  men,  as  far  as  re- 
spects the  mere  enjoyment  of  life. 
As  far  as  that  goes,  I  believe  that 
it  is  every  woman's  opinion,  that 
the  condition  of  men  is  far  supe- 
rior to  her  own. 

"  They  can  do  what  they  like," 
we  say  :  do  not  these  words  gene- 
rally mean  that  they  have  time  to 
seek  out  whatever  amusements  suit 
their  tastes  ?  We  dare  not  tell  them 
we  have  no  time  to  do  this:  for,  if 
they  should  ask  in  what  manner 
we  dispose  of  our  time,  we  should 
blush  to  enter  upon  a  detail  of  the 
minutiae  which  compose  the  sum 
of  a  woman's  daily  employment. 
Nay,  many  a  lady  who  allows  not 
herself  one  quarter  of  an  hour's 
positive  leisure  during  her  working 
hours,  considers  her  own  husband 
as  the  most  industrious  of  men,  if 
he  steadily  pursues  his  occupation 
till  the  hour  of  dinner,  and  will  be 
perpetually  lamenting  her  own 
idlen 

Real   bmitiess   and   real  pleasure 
make    up   the   portions   of   men's 


time:  two  sources  of  happiness 
which  we  certainly  partake  of  in  a 
very  inferior  degree.  To  the  exe- 
cution of  employment,  in  which 
the  faculties  of  the  body  or  mind 
are  called  into  busy  action,  there 
must  be  a  consoling  importance 
attached,  which  feminine  duties 
(that  generic  term  for  all  our  bu- 
siness) cannot  aspire  to. 

In  the  most  meritorious  dis- 
charges of  those  duties,  the  high- 
est praise  we  can  aim  at  is,  to  be 
accounted  the  helpmates  of  man  ; 
who,  in  return  for  all  he  does  for 
us,  expects,  and  justly  expects,  us 
to  do  all  in  our  power  to  soften  and 
sweeten  life. 

In  how  many  ways  is  a  good  wo- 
man employed,  in  thought  or  ac- 
tion through  the  day,  in  order  that 
her  good  man  may  be  enabled  to 
feel  his  leisure  hours  real  substan- 
tial holiday,  and  perfect  respite 
from  the  cares  of  business !  Not 
the  least  part  to  be  done  to  accom- 
plish this  end  is,  to  fit  herself  to 
become  a  conversational  compa- 
nion ;  that  is  to  say,  she  has  to 
study  and  understand  the  subjects 
on  which  he  loves  to  talk.  This 
part  of  our  duty,  if  strictly  per- 
formed, will  be  found  by  far  our 
hardest  part.  The  disadvantages 
we  labour  under  from  an  educa- 
tion different  from  a  manly  one, 
make  the  hours  in  which  we  sit  and 
do  nothing  in  men's  company  too 
often  any  thing  but  a  relaxation; 
although,  as  to  the  pleasure  and 
instruction,  time  so  passed  may 
be  esteemed  more  or  less  delight- 
ful. 

To  make  a  man's  home  so  desir- 
able a  place  as  to  preclude  his 
having  a  wish  to  pass    his  leisure 


UN    NliEDI.fi-WOKK. 


89 


hours  at  any  are-side  in  preference 
to  his  own,  I  should  humbly  take  to 
he  the  sum  and  substance  of  wo- 
man's domestic  ambition.  I  would 
appeal  to  our  British  ladies,  mho 
are  generally  allowed  to  be  the 
mo9t  zealous  and  successful  of  all 
women  in  the  pursuit  of  this  ob- 
ject ;  I  would  appeal  to  them  who 
have  been  most  successful  in  the 
performance  of  this  laudable  ser- 
vice, in  behalf  of  father,  son,  hus- 
band, or  brother,  whether  an  anx- 
ious desire  to  perform  this  duty 
well  is  not  attended  with  enough 
of  mental  exertion,  at  least  to  in- 
cline them  to  the  opinion,  that  wo- 
men ma}'  be  more  properly  ranked 
among  the  contributors  to,  than  the 
partakers  of,  the  undisturbed  re- 
laxation of  man. 

If  a  family  be  so  well  ordered 
that  the  master  is  never  called  in 
to  its  direction,  and  yet  he  per- 
ceives comfort  and  economy  well 
attended  to,  the  mistress  of  that 
family  (especially  if  children  form 
a  part  of  it)  has,  I  apprehend,  as 
large  a  share  of  womanly  employ- 
ment as  ought  to  satisfy  her  own 
sense  of  duty;  even  though  the 
needle-book  and  thread-case  were 
quite  laid  aside,  and  she  cheerful- 
ly contributed  her  part  to  the  slen- 
der gains  of  the  corset-maker,  the 
milliner,  the  dress  -  maker,  ihe 
plain- worker,theembroideress,and 
all  the  numerous  classifications  of 
females  supporting  themselves  by 
needle-work,  that  great  staple  com- 
modity, which  is  alone  appropri- 
ated to  the  self-supporting  part  of 
our  sex. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written 
on  the  subject  of  men  engrossing 
to  themselves  every  occupation 
and  calling.     After  many  years  of 


observation  and  reflection,  I  am 
obliged  to  acquiesce  in  the  notion, 
that  it  cannot  well  be  ordered 
otherwise. 

If  at  the  birth  of  girls  it  were 
possible  to  foresee  in  what  cases 
it  would  be  their  fortune  to  pass  a 
single  life,  we  should  soon  find 
trades  wrested  from  their  present 
occupiers,  and  transferred  to  the 
exclusive  possession  of  our  sex. 
The  whole  mechanical  business  of 
copying  writings  in  the  law  de- 
partment, for  instance,  might  very 
soon  be  transferred  with  advantage 
to  the  poorer  sort  of  women,  who, 
with  very  little  teaching,  would 
soon  beat  their  rivals  of  the  other 
sex  in  facility  and  neatness.  The 
parents  of  female  children,  who 
were  known  to  be  destined  from 
their  birth  to  maintain  themselves 
through  the  whole  course  of  their 
lives  with  like  certainty  as  their 
sons  are,  would  fee!  it  a  duty  in- 
cumbent on  themselves  to  strength- 
en the  minds  and  even  the  bodily 
constitutions  of  their  girls,  so  cir- 
cumstanced by  an  education  which, 
without  affronting  the  pre-  conceiv- 
ed habits  of  society,  might  enable 
them  to  follow  some  occupation, 
now  considered  above  the  capaci- 
ty,ortoo  robustfor  the  constitution, 
of  our  sex.  Plenty  of  resources 
would  then  lie  open  for  single  wo- 
men to  obtain  an  independent 
livelihood, when  every  parent  would 
be  upon  the  alert  to  encroach  upon 
some  employment  now  engrossed 
by  men,  for  such  of  their  daugh- 
ters as  would  then  be  exactly  in  the 
same  predicament  as  their  s 
now  are.  Who,  for  instance,  would 
lay  by  money  to  set  up  his  sons  in 
trade;  give  premiums,  and  in  part 
maintain  them  through  a  long  ap- 
N  2 


90 


ON   NEEDLK-WOKK. 


prenticeship;  or  which  men  of 
moderate  incomes  frequently  do, 
strain  every  nerve  in  order  to  bring 
them  up  to  a  learned  profession  ; 
if  it  were  in  a  very  high  degree 
probable,  that  by  the  time  they 
were  twenty  years  of  age,  they 
would  be  taken  from  this  trade  or 
profession,  and  maintained  during 
the  remainder  of  their  lives  by  the 
person  whom  tlieij  should  marry  ?  Yet 
this  is  precisely  the  situation  in 
which  every  parent,  whose  in- 
come does  not  very  much  exceed 
the  moderate,  is  placed  with  re- 
spect to  his  daughters. 

Even  where  bo}-s  have  gone 
through  a  laborious  education,  su- 
perinducing habits  of  steady  atten- 
tion, accompanied  with  the  entire 
conviction,  that  the  business  which 
they  learn  is  to  be  the  source  of 
their  future  distinction,  may  it  not 
be  affirmed,  that  the  persevering 
industry  required  to  accomplish 
this  desirable  end,  causes  many  a 
hard  struggle  in  the  minds  of  men, 
even  of  the  most  hopeful  disposi- 
tion ?  What  then  must  be  the 
disadvantages  under  which  every 
young  woman  is  placed,  who  is  re- 
quired to  learn  a  trade,  from  which 
she  can  never  expect  to  reap  any 
profit,  but  at  the  expense  of  losing 
that  place  in  society,  to  the  pos- 
session of  which  she  may  reason- 
ably look  forward,  inasmuch  as  it 
is  by  far  the  most  common  lot ; 
namely,  the  condition  of  a  happy 
English  wife  ? 

As  I  desire  to  offer  nothing  to 
the  consideration  of  your  readers, 
but  what,  at  least  as  far  as  my  own 
observation  goes,  I  consider  as 
truths  confirmed  by  experience, 
I  will  only  say,  that  were  I  to  fol- 
low the  bent  of  my  own  specula-  || 


tive  opinion, I  should  be  inclined  to 
persuade  eveiy  female,  over  whom 
I  hoped  to  have  any  influence,  to 
contribute  all  the  assistance  in  her 
power  to  those  of  her  own  sex  who 
might  need  it,  in  the  employments 
they  at  present  occupy,  rather  than 
to  force  them  into  situations  now 
filled  wholty  by  men.  With  the 
mere  exception  of  the  profits  which 
they  have  a  right  to  derive  from 
their  needle,  I  would  take  nothing 
from  the  industry  of  man  which  he 
already  possesses. 

"  A  penny  saved  is  a  penny 
earned,"  is  a  maxim  not  true,  un- 
less the  penny  be  saved  in  the 
same  time  in  which  it  might  have 
been  earned.  I,  who  have  known 
what  it  is  to  work  for  money  earned, 
have  since  had  much  experience 
in  working  for  money  saved;  and  I 
consider,  from  the  closest  calcula- 
tion I  can  make,  that  a  penny  saved 
in  that  way,  bears  about  a  true  pro- 
portion to  &  farthing  earned.  I  am 
no  advocate  for  women  who  do  not 
depend  upon  themselves  for  a  sub- 
sistence, proposing  to  themselves 
to  earn  money.  My  reasons  for 
thinking  it  not  advisable,  are  too 
numerous  to  state — reasons  deduc- 
ed from  authentic  facts,  and  strict 
observations  on  domestic  life,  in 
its  various  shades  of  comfort.  But. 
if  the  females  of  a  family  nominal- 
ly supported  by  the  other  sex,  find 
it  necessary  to  add  something  to 
the  common  stock,  why  not  endea- 
vour to  do  something  by  which  they 
may  produce  money  in  its  true 
shape ? 

It  would  be  an  excellent  plan, 
attended  with  very  little  trouble, 
to  calculate  every  evening  how 
much  money  has  been  saved  by 
needle-work  done  in  the  family,  and 


MAPJUAGK    OF    KING    CHAttLF.S  I. 


m 


compare  the  result  with  the  daily 
portion  of  the  yearly  income.  Nor 
would  it  he  amiss  to  make  a  me- 
morandum of  the  time  passed  in 
this  way,  adding  also  a  guess  as  to 
what  share  it  has  taken  up  in  the 
thoughts  and  conversation.  This 
would  he  an  easy  mode  of  forming 
a  true  notion,  and  getting  at  the 
exact  worth  of  this  species  of  home 
industry,  and  perhaps  might  place 
it  in  a  different  light  from  any  in 
which  it  has  hitherto  been  the  fa- 
shion to  consider  it. 

Needle-work  taken  up  as  an 
amusement,  ma}'  not  be  altogether 
unamusing.  We  are  all  pretty 
good  judges  of  what  entertains 
ourselves,  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to 
pronounce  upon  what  may  contri- 
bute to  the  entertainment  of  others. 
At  all  events,  let  us  not  confuse  the 
motives  of  economy  with  those  of 
simple  pastime,  if  saving  be  no 
object,  and  long  habit  has  render- 
ed needle- work  so  delightful  an 
avocation  that  we  cannot  think  of 
relinquishing  it,  there  are  the  <>ood 


old  contrivances  in  which  our  grand- 
dames  were  used  to  beguile  and 
lose  their  time — knitting,  knotting, 
netting,  carpet-working,  and  the 
like  ingenious  pursuits;  those  so 
often  praised,  but  tedious  works, 
which  are  so  long  in  the  operation, 
that  purchasing  the  labour  has  sel- 
dom been  thought  good  economy; 
yet  by  a  certain  fascination  they 
have  been  found  to  chain  down  the 
great  to  a  self-imposed  slavery, 
from  which  they  considerately, 
or  haughtily,  excused  the  needy. 
These  may  be  esteemed  lawful  and 
lady  -  like  amusements  ;  but  if 
those  works  more  usually  denomi- 
nated useful,  yield  greater  satis- 
faction, it  might  be  a  laudable 
scruple  of  conscience,  and  no  bad 
test  to  herself  of  her  own  motive, 
if  a  lady  who  had  no  absolute  need, 
were  to  give  the  money  so  saved 
to  poor  needle-women  belonging 
to  those  branches  of  employment 
from  which  she  has  borrowed  those 
shares  of  pleasurable  labour. 

SoiPRONIA. 


MARRIAGE  OF  KING  CHARLES  I. 
TO  THE  EDITOR. 


In  the  extracts  your  correspond- 
ent D.  W— — r  furnished  some  time 
since  from  James  Howel's  Letters, 
I  remember  that  something  was  said 
regarding  the  projected  match  be- 
tween Prince  Charles  and  the  In- 
fanta of  Spain.  A  few  days  ago  a 
tract  came  into  my  hands,  which  is 
not  only  rare,  but  really  valuable 
as  an  historical  record,  connected 
with  one  of  the  same  illustrious 
persons  on  his  subsequent  mar- 
riage with  the  sister  of  the  King 
of  France:  it  bears  the  following- 


title,  and  was  printed  in  the  year 
1625:  "  A  true  Discourse  of  aH 
the  Royal  Passages,  Triumphs,  and. 
Ceremonies  observed  at  the  Con- 
tract of  Marriage  of  the  high  and 
mighty  CHARLES  King  of  Great 
Britain,  and  the  most  excellentest 
of  Ladies  the  Lady  HENRIETTA 
Maria  of  Bourbon,  Sister  to  the 
most  Christian  King  of  France." 

At  the  present  moment,  when 
such  splendid  preparations  are 
making  for  a  royal  solemnity,  even 
of  a  more  imposing  kind,  I  have 


92 


MAUKIAGFi    OJP    KING    CHAltLKS  I. 


thought  that  one  or  two  descriptive 
quotations  from  this  pampbletwould 
not  be  unacceptable  to  your  read- 
ers. If  you  are  of  the  same  opi- 
nion, I  shall  look  for  their  inser- 
tion in  your  forthcoming  Number. 
You  need  make  no  further  apolo- 
gies in  your  address  to  correspond- 
ents, for  not  inserting  a  communi- 
cation I  sent  you  as  far  back  as 
April  last. 

I  remain  j'ours,  &c. 

A  n  ti  q  UA  u  u;s. 


First,  the  prefixed  day  and  hour 
for  the  solemnity  of  this  royal  and 
sacred  marriage  being  come,  and 
the  whole  pomp  thereof  in  a  full 
readiness,  the  first  that  marched 
forth  were  the  hundred  Swissers 
of  the  king's  guard,  all  clothed  in 
the  king's  livery  of  estate,  with 
their  drums  beating  before  and 
after  them,  the  fifes  whistling,  their 
ensign  displayed,  and  all  other 
things  suitable  to  a  warlike  prepa- 
ration; for  these  are  the  king's  first, 
and  indeed  most  soldier-like  guard, 
being  men  of  that  temper  and  con- 
dition, that  they  are  truly  said  to 
be  born  soldiers,  live  soldiers,  and 
die  soldiers.  A  good  pretty  space 
after  them  went  twelve  hautboys, 
ill  the  king's  livery  of  estate  also, 
who  playing  upon  those  loud  in- 
struments, struck  into  some  admi- 
ration, but  into  all  delight  and 
pleasure.  Next  unto  these  march- 
ed in  two  ranks  eight  of  the  king's 
principal  drummers,  in  their  live- 
ries of  estate  also,  and  these  were 
said  to  beat  their  drums  with  that 
bravery  and  courageousness,  that, 
as  it  was  said  of  Alexander,  that 
when  he  heard  Ionic  music  he 
would  start  up,  call  for  his  sword 
and  armour,  and  express  all  the 
passions  of  anger  and  fury,  so  there 


was  not  an  ear  that  heard  the^e, 
but  awakened  the  heart  to  think 
of  heroical  achievements.  After 
these  marched  the  king's  second 
guard,  consisting  of  Frenchmen : 
then  came  at  least  a  dozen  trum- 
peters, in  their  liveries  of  estate 
also,  with  rich  banners  containing 
the  king's  full  coat  armour,  and 
fair  cordons  of  watchet  silk  and 
gold,  suitable  to  the  rest  in  every 
proportion.  After  these  trumpet- 
ers came  in  a  stately  manner  Mon- 
sieur de  Rhodes,  who  is  the  great 
master  of  the  ceremonies,  being 
wonderfully  richly  apparelled,  and 
at  the  least  twenty  of  the  king's 
ordinarygentlemen  attending  about 
him.  Immediately  after  him  went 
all  the  lords,  and  others  who  were 
knights  of  the  great  and  renowned 
order  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  in  the 
rich  robes  of  their  order,  and  with 
their  palks  or  mantles  of  watchet 
velvet  all,  most  bravely  embroi- 
'■  dered  with Jieurs-de- lis  of  gold,  and 
their  other  garments  shining  with 
precious  stones  and  rich  jewellery. 
t  Near  unto  these  knights  went  se- 
j  ven  heralds  at  arms,  in  very  rich 
I  coats  of  crimson  velvet,  with  the 
arms  of  France,  and  all  powdered 
overwith go\den  fleurs-de-lis.  Close 
unto  these  heralds  followed  the  two 
great  marshals  of  France,  Mon- 
sieur de  Vitry  and  Monsieur  Bas- 
sompiere;  and  after  them  came 
alone  the  Duke  of  Elbeufyin  most 
sumptuous  attire.  Then  a  little 
distance  from  him  came  (represent- 
ing the  person  of  the  royal  bride- 
groom) the  Duke  of  Cheureuse, 
in  a  suit  of  most  rich  perfumed 
black  cloth,  cut  upon  cloth  of  gold, 
and  lined  with  rich  tissue;  upon 
his  head  he  wore  a  cap  of  cloth  of 
gold,  on  which  was  fixed  a  jewel 
of  a  most  inestimable  value,  every 


MARRIAGE    OF    KING    CHARLES  I. 


93 


diamond  being  so  glorious,  that,  it 
dazzled  the  eyes  of  nil  that  gazed 
upon  it;  about  his  body,  bawdrick- 
vvise,  he  wore  a  wonderfully  curious 
rich  scarf,  all  embroidered  over 
with  roses,  and  powdered  with  pa- 
ragon diamonds  and  great  orient 
pearl;  he  wore  a  short  cloak,  ail 
embroidered  over  with  gold,  and 
set  with  diamonds  so  wonderfully 
thick  and  curious,  that  in  his 
moving  he  seemed  to  burn  and 
bear  a  living  flame  about  him. 
After  him  came  the  Earl  of  Car- 
lisle and  the  Earl  of  Holland  (be- 
ing the  extraordinary  ambassadors 
for  the  Majesty  of  Great  Britain), 
and  they  were  both  apparelled  in 
white  cloth  of  silver,  richly  em- 
broidered, and  interchased  with 
many  precious  stones  and  wealthy- 
jewellery.  Then  came  the  King  of 
France  in  his  own  person,  in  royal 
garments  of  estate,  all  embroider- 
ed over  with  gold  and  silver,  and 
almost  covered  over  with  rich  jew- 
els; in  his  right  hand  holding  the 
most  excellent  princess  his  sister, 
who  that  day  wore  a  crown  of  gold 
upon  her  head,  chased  and  set  with 
diamonds,  and  a  world  of  other  i 
precious  stones;  her  gown  was  all 
powdered  over  with  golden 'Jleiifs- 
de-lis;  and  on  her  other  hand  went 


the  Princess  of  Comic  and  the 
Princess  of  Countee  bore  up  the 
queen's  long  train.  And  after  them 
followed  the  young  Lady  of  Mont- 
pensier  and  the  Countess  of  Sois- 
sons,  and  other  ladies  of  the  king's 
blood,  in  rich  gowns  broidered 
aboutwith  goldenjieurs-de-lis.  And 
after  them  the  Duchess  of  Guise, 
the  Duchess  of  Cheureuse,  and 
the  Duchess  Elbeuf,  with  a  world 
of  other  ladies  and  gentlewomen, 
who,  like  so  many  fair  planets 
moving  in  their  several  orbs,  made 
all  the  place,  like  the  heavens, 
sparkle  with  renown  and  glory 
about  them.  After  these  came  a 
little  world  of  noblemen,  knights, 
and  gentlemen.  And  last  of  all 
came  the  king's  principal  and  chief 
guard,  consisting  only  of  Scots 
and  no  other. 

All  this  royal  and  admired  as- 
sembly baring  in  this  worthy  equi- 
page before  described,  advanced 
themselves  from  the  king's  castle  of 
the  Louvre  to  Our  Lady's  church, 
they  all  made  a  stand  at  the  entry 
of  the  great  porch  of  the  church, 
before  which  was  a  most  stately 
scaffold  mounted,  whereon  to  cele- 
brate the  marriage,  and  in  which 
place  was  raised  a  wonderfully  rich 
and  curious  canopy  or  vealt  royal 


Monsieur,  the  king's  brother,  won-  i  of  cloth  of  gold  richly  embroider- 
derfully  sumptuously  attired,  and  'i  ed,  and  held  almost  of  an  incom- 
not  inferior  to  any  that  had  place  |  parable  value:  to  this  canopy  or 
in  the  royal  assembly.     Next  unto 


the  king,  prince,  and  ro}-al  bride,  j 
followed  the  Queen  Mother  of 
France,  very  grave,  yet  richly  at- 
tired:  and  after  her  came  the 
Queen  of  France,  whose  gown  was 
all  lulyeoly  embroidered  over  with 
gold,  and  silver,  and  set  and  en- 
chased with  a  world  of  precious 
stones,  pearl,  and  other  jewellery : 


vealt  royal  the  king  and  monsieur 
his  brother  conducted  the  royal 
bride  their  sister,  and  placing  her 
under  it,  they  there  left  her  till 
some  ceremonies  were  finished; 
then  they  resigned  her  up  into  the 
hands  of  the  Duke  of  Chereuse, 
to  whom  the  Cardinal  de  la  Roche 
Foncault  came  and  performed  all. 
the   teremenies   of   marriage   ac- 


94 


MARRIAGE    OF    KING    CJ-IAKLLS  I. 


cording  to  the  orders  of  the  church, 
and  the  royal  ceremonies  of  the 
French  nation,  all  acclamations  of 
honour  and  renown  rinsing  ahout 
the  church  in  a  wonderful  manner. 
Upon  Monday,  heing  the  13th 
of  June,  the  king's  most  excellent 
majesty  came  unto  Dover  ahout 
ten  of  the  clock  in  the  forenoon, 
and  after  little  short  preparation, 
the  queen  heing  full  of  all  joyful 
expectation,  they  met  together  in 
the  Privy  Chamber,  wherein  the 
first  encounter  she  threw  herself 
into  his  arms  with  that  boundless 
and  inexpressible  affection,  that 
virtue,  modesty,  and  all  the  per- 
fections which  can  crown  the  best 
and  most  excellent  creature,  might 
there  have  learned  the  worthiest 
rules  both  of  honour,  true  love,  and 
obedience ;  neither  did  she  so  soon 
cast  herself  into  his  arms,  as  with- 
al instantly  threw  down  herself 
upon  her  knees  before  him,  giving 
up  into  his  sacred  protection,  her 
life,  liberty,  service,  and  everlast- 
ing obedience,  acknowledging  her- 
self a  handmaid  to  his  goodness, 
and  that  all  the  powers  and  strength 
both  of  her  mind  and  body  should 
wholly  and  absolutely,  next  unto 
her  God,  rest  ever  bound  to  his 
kingly  commandments.  —  What 
tongue  or  pen  is  able  to  express 
that  joy  wherewith  he  received  her, 
and  her  dear  protestations;  for 
scarcely  could  you  say  she  is  now 
upon  her  knees,  when,  with  all  the 
tendernesses  which  an  immaculate 
and  unspotted  affection  could  ex- 
press, he  presently  took  her  up  in- 
to his  arms,  kissed  her  again,  and 
gave  her  those  dear  expressions  of 
a  never  changing  love,  that  the  be- 
holders might  see  how  each  other's 
heart  flew  out  at  the  windows  of 


their  eyes,  and  by  adeliazan  inter- 
change lodged  themselves  in  each 
other'sbosom!  After  these  pure  and 
unfained  caressments,  they  fell  into 
private  conference,  and  so  passed 
the  time  till  dinner;  which  finished, 
the  king  and  queen  departed  from 
Dover,  and  being  come  out  of  the 
town,  a  gallant  volley  of  shot  was 
delivered  both  from  the  castle  and 
ships,  which  continued  so  long  and 
loud,  that  the  very  peal  in  the  echo 
carried  back  her  royal  welcome 
unto  Calais.  Being  come  from 
the  town  of  Dover,  they  came  upon 
Barrom  Down,  a  spacious  and  good- 
ly place,  where  were  assembled 
all  the  English  nobility,  and  ma- 
ny ladies  of  honour  and  high  place, 
which  being  ranked  according  to 
the  dignity  of  their  great  places, 
and  the  knight  marshal  with  a 
careful  respect  keeping  the  vulgar 
from  intruding  or  doing  them  of- 
fence,  the  king  and  queen  in 
great  state  rode  between  them, 
giving  such  respect  and  grace  to 
every  one  of  deserving  quality, 
that  every  one  strove,  in  their  pray- 
ers and  praises,  to  let  the  world 
understand  the  inhniteness  of  their 
joy  and  comfort. 

From  Barrom  Down  the  king 
and  queen  came  the  same  night  to 
the  city  of  Canterbury,  all  the 
ways  whereupon  tbey  rode  being 
strewed  with  green  rushes,  roses, 
and  the  choicest  flowers  that  could 
be  gotten,  and  the  trees  loaden 
with  people  of  all  sorts,  who  with 
shouts  and  acclamations  gave  them 
a  continual  welcome.  Being  come 
near  unto  the  city,  their  highnesses 
were  met  and  received  by  the 
mayor  and  the  rest  of  the  city 
magistrates,  and  so  brought  within 
the  walls,  where  was  pronounced 


THE    FKMALR    TATTI.F.K. 


95 


before  them  divers  learned  gratu- 
Iatory  orations,  and  such  infinite 
preparations  made  of  all  kinds  for 
the  general  entertainment,  that 
Canterbury  seemed  for  that  little 
time  a  very  Eden  or  Paradise, 
where  nothing  was  wanting  that 
might  serve  joy  or  delight. 

On  Wednesday  the  king  and 
queen  departed  from  Canterbury, 
and  rode  in  the  most  triumphant 


manner  that  might  be  to  Cobham 
Hall,  finding  (as  before  I  said)  all 
the  high-ways  strewed  with  roses 
and  all  manner  of  sweet  flowers; 
and  here  at  Cobham  they  lodged 
all  that  night,  where  there  was  all 
plentiful  entertainment,  and  no- 
thing wanting  that  might  add  any 
honour  either  to  the  king  or  king- 
dom. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  LVI. 


Then,  like  the  Sibyl's  leaves, 
O  scatter  the  in  abroad ! 


-Drydf.n. 


I  fef.l  no  hesitation  in  continu- 
ing the  course  of  maxims  which  I 
have  for  some  time  past  offered  to 
my  female  readers  ;  though  I  could 
with  equal  propriety  recommend 
them  to  the  attention  of  parents 
without  distinction,  as  they  may  be 
equally  beneficial,  as  to  their  ge- 
neral principles  in  what  relates  to 
the  regulation  of  mind  or  conduct, 
to  the  youth  of  either  sex. 


Too  great  a  degree  of  timidity 
is  productive  of  the  very  incon- 
veniences that  real  modesty  would 
urge  to  avoid  :  look  around  in  so- 
ciety  on  the  conceited  and  igno- 
rant, and  cease  to  blush  and  trem- 
ble among  them. 

Be  neither  vain  of  your  birth, 
nor  your  present  rank;  they  are 
accidents,  not  always  acquired  by 
merit ;  perhaps,  in  the  issue  to  be 
lamented.  If  elevated  by  alliance 
beyond  your  expectation,  endea- 
vour to  support  that  advantage  by 
the  dignity  of  your  actions. 

Give  no  one,  by  arrogance  or 
ill-timed  haughtiness,  title  to  in- 
quire into  your  origin,  or  to  wish 

Vol.  X.  No.  LVI. 


your  return  to  that  station  from 
which  you  have  been  elevated. 

Let  no  unexpected  exaltation 
abate  your  love  or  veneration  for 
your  parents. 

Dare  to  testify  public  respect  to 
perhaps  obscure  relations,  whom 
fortune  has  neglected,  while  she 
has  smiled  on  you. 

Let  neither  time,  change  of 
place,  nor  prosperity,  diminish 
your  gratitude  towards  those  from 
whom  j-ou  have  once  received  an 
obligation. 

There  is  a  certain  forced  humi- 
lity as  offensive  to  delicate  feel- 
ing as  a  revealed  pride:  in  acting 
this  part,  you  may  deceive  your- 
self, but  you  will  not  those  whose 
good-will  you  would  wish  to  con- 
ciliate. 

Should  accident  throw  in  your 
way  some  former  acquaintance  of 
your  youth,  whom  misfortune  has 
pursued,  and  whom  afflictions 
have  driven  from  your  more  flow- 
ery path  of  life,  endeavour  to  ob- 
literate their  humiliating  remem- 
brance of  those  happier  times  by 
unaffected  kindness 
O 


m 


THE    FEMALE   TATTLMC. 


Redouble  even  your  attention  to 
the  unfortunate;  avoid  every  sub- 
ject that  may  awaken  or  increase 
distress. 

Let  no  false  shame  induce  you 
to  check  an  exertion  of  pity,  nor 
think  it  srreat  to  seem  unfeeling. 

Sustain  patiently  a  very  common 
but  false  imputation  of  a  want  of 
understanding,  rather  than  avow 
a  want  of  good-nature. 

Be  undauntedly  courageous  in 
the  defence  of  an  injured  charac- 
ter, which  you  have  a  just  foun- 
dation to  he  assured  it  is. 

Be  sparing  of  censure  at  all 
times,  and  liberal  of  applause. 

Guard  your  tongue  and  your 
pen  against  bitterness;  above  all, 
when  the  object  may  ever  have  of- 
fended you. 

The  strongest  proof  we  can  give 
of  the  excellency  of  our  princi- 
ples is  the  pardon  of  injuries,  as 
it  is  that  of  our  victory  over  our 
passions. 

During  your  youth,  be  cautious 
of  your  manner  of  speaking  of  the 
beauty  of  your  own  sex  ;  of  their 
characters  when  you  grow  old. 

Should  Heaven  have  bestowed 
much  personal  perfection  on  you, 
take  redoubled  care  of  your  mind. 
Consider  a  more  than  ordinary 
share  of  beauty  rather  as  a  trial 
than  a  gift. 

You  have  only  to  contemplate 
the  scenes  this  world  daily  presents 
3Tou  with,  of  the  fragility  and  bre- 
vity of  youth  and  beauty,  to  pre- 
vent all  comparisons  from  hurting 
you. 

Exert  your  candour,   and   shew 

your    compassion,    towards    those 

whose  beauty  may   have    exposed 

them  to  error  and  misfortunes. 

If    sure  of  your   own   conduct, 


you  can  venture  to  protect  unhap- 
py victims  of  slander  :  vou  risk  to 
incur  your  portion  of  censure ; 
but  guarded  by  conscience,  and 
directed  by  humanity,  these  ar- 
rows will  only  glance,  and  not 
wound  you. 

There  is  a  distinction  to  be  obf 
served  between  countenance  and 

Pity- 
Be  never  lukewarm  in  the  praise 
of  contemporaries;  it  is  surely  a 
pleasing  task  to  bring  that  merit 
to  light,  which  has  been  obscured 
by  adversity  or  concealed  by  mo- 
desty. 

There  is  a  style  of  praise  so 
blended  with  bitts  and  if's,  that  it 
loses  its  energy  before  it  reaches 
the  object. 

From  your  manner  of  joining  in 
commendation  of  the  absent  your 
sincerity  will  be  judged,  and  dis- 
cernment will  penetrate  the  veil  of 
reluctant  approbation. 

Call  on  your  pride  to  suppress 
those  emotions  of  envy  that  cha- 
rity cannot  conquer. 

Reflect  on  the  perpetual  vicissi- 
tudes the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
prosperous  persons  are  subject  to  ; 
you  will  soon  exchange  the  look 
of  disdain  for  that  of  pity,  and  the 
murmurs  of  comparison  for  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude  on  your  se- 
curity from  similar  accidents. 

Let  the  virtues  and  graces  of 
those  of  your  own  age  serve  as  in- 
centives to  your  emulation. 

Shut  your  e\  es  to  the  personal 
blemishes  of  your  acquaintance, 
and  open  your  ear  to  the  sound  of 
their  virtues. 

At  that  age  when  vanity  reigns 
the  most  despotically,  call  gene- 
rositv  and  good-nature  to  your  aid. 

At  least  prevent  its  ill  effects  oa 


Tiir.  fj-.malf.  tatti.f.r. 


97 


others,  if  you  yourself  cannot  co-  ji  countenance    dishonour,  to    pur- 
tirely  guard  against  its  attacks.         ;  chase  adulation. 

Should  there,  among  your  con-  Attend  to  the  age  and  charac- 
lu'ctions,  be  someone,  from  inevi-  ters  of  those  who  solicit  your  fa- 
table  and  remote  causes,  plunged  vours;  encourage  youth  in  indus- 
into  distress,  or  even  from  mis-  try.  procure  the  aged  repose, 
conduct,  deny  yourself  a  super-  Observe  a  constant  respect to- 
fluous  ornament  privately  to  re-  wards  the  advanced  in  age  of  eve* 
lieve  them.  ry  condition;  excuse  their  in  fir- 

Should  a  plentiful  fortune  ena-     mines,  indulge  their  fancies,  and 
blc  you  to  indulge  a  disposition  to     mitigate  the  pains  of  decay, 
give,  complete    the    happiness    of  j      Suffer  no    harsh    expression    to 
the  receivers  by  the  manner  of  be-  j  mark  your  impatience,  occasioned 
stowing.  by  the  misapprehension  of  decay- 

The  language  of  contempt,  j  ed  faculties, 
flowing  from  a  conscious  supcriori-  i  Do  not  consider,  during  your 
ty,  arises  from  the  mistake,  that  'youth,  the  aged  as  distinct  beings 
accidental  gifts  of  fortune  are  the  from  yourself:  your  journey,  if 
portion  of  merit:  avoid  ever  to  use  !  you  live,  will  be  more  speedy  than 
it  towards  an  unhappy  inferior.  you  imagine  to  the  same  period, 

and  render  you  equally  dependent 


There  is  a  particular  grace  ap- 
propriated to  the  exertion  of  each 
virtue;  and  charity  has  its  claim: 
you  may  bestow  millions  with  awk- 
wardness and  insensibility;  refuse, 
yet  not  displease. 

You  will  hardly  be  able  to  com- 
pensate by  a  long-expected  gift, 
the  tremors  your  hesitation  may 
have  occasioned. 


on  the  compassion  and  patience  of 
a  younger  race. 

It  is  not  always  necessary  for 
different  ages  to  assort  with  each 
'other;  but  when  circumstances  de- 
mand it,  be  assured,  the  benefit 
will  be  on  the  younger  side,  whose 
knowledge  must  be  inferior,  and 
consequently  their  power  of  amus- 


lf  ever  you  should  have  been  a  !  Lug  less. 
sufferer  from  ingratitude  (and  who  '■      You  will  reap  more  satisfaction 
has  not  more  or  less;)  do  not  per-  j  from     conferring     obligations    on 
mit  the  recollection  to  harden  your     persons   of    a   certain    age,    than 
heart.  those  of  a  younger  date:  there  is 

Of  all  the  delicate  sensations  of    a  certain  attendant  pride  on  hope 
which  the  mind  is  capable,  none,  i  at  the  beginning  of  life,  that  ex- 
perhaps,  will   surpass   that    which     perience,    on    the    decline    of    it, 
attends  the  relief    of  an    avowed     contributes  to  suppress, 
enemy.  m  jj      It  is  not  an  ostentatious  gift  that 

Be  fearless  of  the  effects  of  re-     will  excite  real  gratitude, 
venge,  if  you  are  compelled,  by  the         A   friendly   word,  a    seasonable 
worthlessness  of  an  object,  to  re-     recommendation,    may,     at    some 
fuse  your  assistance.  i  juncture,  procure  as  much  ad van - 

Let  not  your  love  of  popularity     tage,  as  a  pecuniary  kindness  at 
impose  on  your  innate  principles  :  another. 

of  justice,    so   far   as    to   let  you         Be  mindful  to  avoid  making  rash 

O  2 


98 


BARHAIUTY   OF  THE   INDIANS  TO   THEIR   CAPTIVES. 


promises:  your  intentions,  with- 
out reason  to  imagine  you  can  ren- 
der them  effectual,  is  an  injustice 
time  must  reveal. 

It  is  better  to  occasion  an  agree- 
able surprise,  than  a  painful  dis- 
appointment: a  modest  activity 
will  produce  the  one,  a  presump- 
tuous confidence  the  other. 

When  you  shall  contemplate  ne- 
cessity struggling  with  modest}7, 
endeavour  to  oblige  in  a  manner 
that  shall  meet  the  wish  half  way, 
and  save  the  blush  of  request. 

Let  not  your  delicacy  repose  at 
the  moment  of  conferring  a  bene- 


fit;  continue  to  employ  it  in  re- 
straining the  vanity  of  a  recital,  or 
even  of  a  remoter  hint  of  that  ac- 
tion, which  the  laws  of  religion 
and  morality  prescribe  particularly 
to  Christians. 

Do  not  expect  an  equivalent  for 
a  kindness  where  there  shall  be 
the  means ;  for  generosity  ceases 
to  merit  the  name,  if  it  is  to  be- 
come an  exchange. 

Make  no  persons  wait  who  are 
dependent  on  you :  the  loss  of  time 
to  all  who  have  to  live  on  the 
careful  employment  of  it,  is  the 
loss  of  their  bread. 


AN 


ACCOUNT    OF    THE    NORTH -AMERICAN 
BARBARITY  TO  THEIR  CAPTIVES. 


INDIANS1 


It  has  been  long  too  feelingly 
known,  that  instead  of  observing 
the  generous  part  of  the  laws  of  war, 
by  saving  the  unfortunate  who  fall 
into  their  power,  the  North- Ameri- 
can Indians  generally  devote  their 
captives  to  death  with  the  most 
agonizing  tortures.  No  represen- 
tation can  possibly  be  given,  so 
shocking  to  humanity,  as  their  un- 
merciful method  of  tormenting 
their  devoted  prisoner;  and  as  it 
is  so  contrary  to  the  standard  of  the 
rest  of  the  known  world,  I  shall  re- 
late the  circumstances,  so  far  as  to 
convey  proper  information  thereof 
to  the  reader.  When  the  company 
return  from  war,  and  come  in  view 
of  their  own  town,  they  follow  the 
leader  one  by  one,  in  a  direct  line, 
each  a  few  yards  behind  the  other, 
to  magnify  their  triumph.  If  they 
have  not  succeeded,  or  any  of  their 
warriors  are  lost,  they  are  quite 
silent;  but  if  they  are  all  safe,  and 
have-  succeeded,  they  fire  off  the 


three  at  a  time,  whooping  and  in- 
sulting the  prisoners.  They  encamp 
near  their  town  all  night,  in  a  large 
square  plot  of  ground,  marked  for 
the  purpose,  with  a  high  war- pole 
fixed  in  the  middle  of  it,  to  which 
they  secure  their  prisoners.  Next 
day  they  go  to  the  leader's  house 
in  a  very  solemn  procession,  but 
stay  without,  round  his  red  painted 
war-pole,  until  they  have  deter- 
mined concerning  the  fate  of  their 
prisoners.  If  any  one  of  the  cap- 
tives should  be  fortunate  enough 
to  get  loose,  and  run  into  the  house 
of  the  archi-magus,  or  to  a  town  of 
refuge,  he  by  ancient  custom  is 
saved  from  the  fiery  torture;  these 
places  being  a  sure  asylum  to  them 
if  they  were  invaded  and  taken, 
but  not  to  invaders,  because  they 
came  to  shed  blood. 

The  young  prisoners  are  saved, 
if  not  devoted  while  the  company 
were  sanctifying  themselves  for 
their  expedition  ;  but  if  the  latter 


Indian  platoon,  by  one,  two,  and  j  be  the  case,  they  are  condemned, 


BARBARITY    OF   THE    INDIANS   TO   THEIR    CAPTIVES. 


99 


and  tied  to  the  dreadful  stake  one 
at  a  time.  The  victors  first  strip 
their  miserable  captives  quite  na- 
ked, and  put  on  their  feet  a  pair 
of  bear-skin  maccasenes,  with  the 


mayed :  with  an  insulting  manly 
voice,  he  sings  the  war  song;  and 
with  gallant  contempt,  he  tramples 
the  rattling  gourd  with  pebbles  in 
it  to  pieces,  and  outbraves  even 


black  hairy  part  outside;  others  I  death  itself.  The  women  make  a 
fasten  with  a  grape-vine  a  burn-  !  furious  onset  with  their  burning 
ing  fire-brand  to  the  pole,  a  little  j1  torches;  hispainis  so  excruciating, 
above  the  reach  of  their  heads.  !|  that  he  rushes  out  from  the  pole 
Then  they  know  their  doom ;  deep  j  with  the  fury  of  the  most  savage 
black  and  burning  fire  are   fixed     beast  of  prey,  and  with  the  vine 


seals  of  their  death-warrant.  Their 
punishment  is  always  left  to  the 
women;  and  on  account  of  their 
false  standard  of  education,  they 
are  no  way  backward  in  their  of- 
fice, but  perform  it  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  greedy  e\*es  of 
the  spectators.  Each  of  them  pre- 
pares for  the  dreadful  rejoicing  a 
long  bundle  of  dry  canes,  or  the 
heart  of  fat  pitch-pine,  and  as  the 
victims  are  led  to  the  stake,  the 


sweeps  down  all  before  him,  kick- 
ing, biting,  and  trampling  them 
with  the  greatest  despite.  The 
circle  immediately  fills  again,  ei- 
ther with  the  same  or  fresh  per- 
sons; they  attack  him  on  every 
side:  now  he  runs  to  the  pole  for 
shelter,  but  the  flames  pursue  him ; 
then,  with  champing  teeth  and 
sparkling  eye  -  balls,  he  breaks 
through  their  contracted  circle 
afresh,  and  acts  every  part  that  the 


women  and  their  young  ones  beat  j  highest  courage,  most  raging  fury, 


them  with  these  in  a  most  barba- 
rous manner.  Happy  would  it  be 
for  the  miserable  creatures,  if  their 
sufferings  ended  here,  or  a  merci- 
ful tomohawk  finished  them  at  one 
stroke;  but  this  shameful  treat- 
ment is  a  prelude  to  future  suffer- 
ings. 


and  blackest  despair  can  prompt 
him  to.     But  he  is  sure  to  be  over- 
powered  by    numbers,    and    after 
some  time  the  fire  affects  his  ten- 
I  der  parts.     Then  they  pour  over 
him  a  quantity  of  cold  water,  and 
|  allow  him  a  proper  time  of  respite, 
j  until  his  spirits  recover,  and  he  is 


The  death-signal  being  given,  capable  of  suffering  new  tortures, 
preparations  are  made  for  acting  Then  the  like  cruelties  are  repeat- 
a  more  tragical  part.  The  victim's  ;}  ed  until  he  falls  down,  and  happily 
arms  are  fast  pinioned,  and  a  strong  !  becomes  insensible  of  pain.  Now 
grape-vine  is  tied  round  his  neck  they  scalp  him;  dismember  and 
to  the  top  of  the  war-pole,  allow-     carry  off  all  the  exterior  branches 


ing  him  to  track  around  about  fif- 
teen yards.  They  fix  some  tough 
clay  on  his  head,  to  secure  the 
scalp  from  the  blazing  torches. 
Unspeakable  pleasure  now  fills  the 
exulting  crowd  of  spectators;  the 
circle  fills  with  the  amazonian  and 
merciless  executioners.  The  suf 
fering  warrior,  however,  is  not  dis- 


of  the  body,  pudendis  non  exceptis, 
in  shameful  and  savage  triumph. 
This  is  the  most  favourable  treat- 
ment their  devoted  captives  re- 
ceive; it  would  be  too  shocking  to 
humanity  either  to  give  or  peruse 
every  particular  of  their  conduct 
in  such  doleful  tragedies:  nothing 
can  equal  these  scenes,  but  those 


100 


THE    GOOD    WIFE. 


of  the  unmerciful*  Romish  Inqui- 
sition. 

Not  a  soul,  of  whatever  age  or 
sex,  manifests  the  least  pity  during 
the  prisoner's  tortures;  the  women 
sing  with  religious  joy  all  the 
while  they  are  torturing  the  devot- 
ed victim,  and  peals  of  laughter 
resound  through  the  crowded  the- 
atre, especially  if  he  fears  to  die. 
But  a  warrior  puts  on  a  bold  au- 
stere countenance,  and  carries  it 
through  all  his  pains.  As  long  as 
he  can,  he  whoops  and  outbraves 
the  enemy,  describing  his  own 
martial  deeds  against  them,  with 
those  of  his  own  nation,  who  he 
threatens  will  force  many  of  them 
to  eat  fire  in  revenge  of  his  fate, 
as  he  himself  had  often  done  to 
some  of  their  relations  at  their 
cost. 

Though  the  same  things  operate 
alike  upon  the  organs  of  the  hu- 


man body,  and  produce  a  uni- 
formity of  sensations;  yet  weak- 
ness or  constancy  of  mind  de- 
rived from  habit,  helps,  in  a  great 
measure,  either  to  heighten  or 
lessen  the  sense  of  pain.  By  this, 
the  afflicted  party  has  learned  to 
stille  nature,  and  shew  an  out- 
ward unconcern,  under  such  slow 
and  acute  tortures;  and  the  sur- 
prising cruelty  of  their  women  is 
equally  owing  to  education  and 
custom.  Similar  instances  verify 
this,  as  in  Lisbon,  and  other  pla- 
ces, where  tender-hearted  ladies 
are  transformed  by  their  bloody- 
priests  into  so  many  Medeas, 
through  deluded  religious  princi- 
ples ;  and  will  sit  and  see  with  the 
highest  joy,  the  martyrs  of  God 
drawn  along  in  diabolical  triumph 
to  the  fiery  stake,  atid  suffering 
death  with  lingering  tortures. 


A  gentleman  of  very  ancient 
family  and  considerable  estate 
was  married  to  a  lady  of  beauty, 
wit,  virtue,  and  good-humour:  but 
though  he  knew  and  acknowledged 
the  merits  of  his  wife,  yet  he  was  a 
man  of  so  depraved  a  taste,  that 
the  most  dirtv  creature  he  could 
pick  up  frequently  supplied  her 
place. 


rHE  GOOD  WIFE. 

shion,  that  it  was  broken  victuals  ; 
that  her  mother  and  she  had  no 
sustenance  but  what  they  got  from 
the  charity  of  the  cooks  at  great 
gentlemen's  houses  ;  and  that  she 
was  now  going  home  with  what 
they  had  given  her.  "  You  need  not 
be  in  haste  I  suppose,"  said  he;  "if 
you  will  step  with  me  into  yonder 
field,  I  will  give  you  something  to 


It  happened  when  they  were  at  |  buy  a  new  gown."  The  poor  girl 
their  country-seat,  that,  ridingone  !,  needed  not  much  persuasion  to 
morning  to  take  the  air,  as  was  his 
visual  custom,  he  met  a  ragged 
country  wench,  with  a  pair  of  wal- 
lets, or  coarse  linen  bags,  thrown 
over  her  shoulders.  He  stopped 
his  horse,  and  asked  what  she  had 
got  there.     To  which  she  replied, 


bring  her  to  consent:  on  which  he 
alighted  from  his  horse,  and  threw 
the  bridle  over  a  hedge-stake;  the 
girl,  at  the  same  time,  hung  her 
bags  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle, 
to  prevent  their  coming  to  any 
harm  ;  she  then  followed  the  gen- 


with  a  low  courtesy  after  her  fa-  H  tleman  a  little  way  out  of  the  road. 


CHLKt.'M    bELLS. 


101 


The  horse  not  liking  his  situa- 
tion, found  means  to  get  loose, 
and  ran  directly  home.  The  lady, 
by  chance,  was  at  the  window  when 
he  came  galloping  into  the  court- 
yard. She  was  at  first  a  little 
frightened  to  see  him  without  his 
rider,  hut  perceiving  the  bags,  she 
called  to  have  them  brought  to  her, 
and  on  their  being  so,  was  not  at  a 
loss  to  guess  the  meaning  of  this 
adventure.  She  then  ordered  the 
cook  to  empty  the  wallets,  and  put 
whatever  she  found  in  them  into  a 
clean  dish,  and  send  it  up  in  the 
first  course  that  day  at  dinner, 
which  accordingly  was   done. 

The  husband,  on  missing  his 
horse,  walked  home,  and  brought 
with  him  two  neighbouring  gentle- 
men, whom  he  accideutly  met  in 
his  way.  But  these  guests  did  not  i 
prevent  the  lady  from  prosecuting 
her  intention.  The  beggar's  pro- 
vision was  set  upon  the  table;  rem- 
nants of  stale  fowls,  bones  half 
picked,  pieces  of  beef,  mutton, 
iamb,  veal,  with  several  lumps  of 
bread,  promiscuously  huddled  to- 
gether, made  a  very  comical  ap- 
pearance. Every  one  presently 
had  his  eyes  upon  this  dish  ;  and 
the  husband,  not  knowing  what  to 
make  of  it,  cried  out  pretty  hastily, 
"  What  is  this?  what  have  we  got 
here  ?"  To  which  the  lady,  with 
the  greatest  gaiety,  replied,  "  It  is  a 


new- fashioned  olio,  my  dear:  it 
wants  no  variety ;  I  think  there  is 
a  little  of  every  thing,  and  I  hope 
you  will  eat  heartily  of  it,  as  it  is  a 
dish  of  your  own  providing." 

The  significant  smile  which  ac- 
companied those  last  words,  as 
well  as  the  tone  of  voice  in  which 
they  were  spoken,  making  him  re- 
member where  the  girl  had  hung 
her  wallets,  threw  him  into  a  good 
deal  of  confusion,  which  she  per- 
ceiving, ordered  the  dish  to  be  ta- 
ken away,  and  said,  "I  see  you  don't 
like  it, my  dear;  therefore  when  you 
next  go  to  market,  pray  be  a  better 
caterer."--'1  Forgive  this,"  cried  he, 
"  and  I  promise  you  never  to  go  to 
any  such  market  more." 

The  gentlemen  found  there  was 
some  mystery  in  all  this,  but  would 
not  be  so  free  as  to  desire  an  ex- 
planation. When  dinner  was  over, 
however,  and  the  lady,  after  behav- 
ing the  whole  time  with  all  the 
cheerfulness  imaginable,  had  re- 
tired to  leave  them  to  their  bottle, 
the  husband  made  no  scruple  of 
relating  to  them  by  what  means  his 
table  had  been  furnished  with  a 
dish  of  so  particular  a  kind  ;  at 
which  they  laughed  very  heartily, 
and  would  have  done  much  more  so, 
if  their  admiration  of  the  lady's 
wit  and  good-humour  had  not  al- 
most entirely  engrossed  their  at- 
tention. 


CHURCH  BELLS. 

The  invention  of  bells,  such  as  li  Campanoe,  the  one  referring  to  the 
are  hung  in  the  towers  or  steeples  j  city,  the  other  to  the  country,  were 
of  Christian  churches,  is,  by  Poly-  :;  for  that  reason  given  to  them.  In  the 
dore  Virgil  and  others,  ascribed  j  time  of  Clothair  King  of  France, 
to  Paulinus  Bishop  of  Nola,  a  city  j  in  the  year  610,  the  army  of  the 
of  Campania,  about  the  year  400.  king  was  frighted  from  the  siege 
It  is  said  that  the  names  Noloe  and  'of     the    city    of    Sens    by    ring- 


104 


CHURCH    BELLS. 


ing  the  bells  of  St.  Stephen's 
church.  In  the  times  of  Popery, 
bells  were  baptized  ;..r.d  anointed 
oho  Chrismalis ;  they  were  exor- 
cised and  blessed  by  the  bishop, 
from  a  belief  that  when  these  ce- 
remonies were  performed,  they 
had  power  to  drive  the  devil  out 
of  the  air,  to  calm  tempests,  to  ex- 
tinguish fire,  and  even  to  recreate 
the  dead.  The  ritual  of  these  ce- 
remonies is  contained  in  the  Ro- 
man Pontifical,  and  it  was  usual 
in  their  baptism  to  give  each  bell 
the  name  of  some  saint.  In  Chaun- 
cey's  "  History  of  Hertfordshire," 
page  383,  is  the  relation  of  the 
baptism  of  a  set  of  bells  in  Italy 
with  great  ceremony,  a  short  time 
before  the  writing-  of  that  book. 
By  an  old  chartulary,  once  in  pos- 
session of  Weever  the  antiquary, 
it  appears  that  the  bells  of  the 
priory  of  Little  Dunmow,  in  Essex, 
were  anno  1501  new  cast,  and  bap- 
tized by  the  following  names  : 

Prima  iu   honore    Sancti    Michaelis    Areh- 
angeli. 

Secunda  in  honore  S.  Johannis  Evangeliste. 

Tertia  in  honore  S.  Johannis  Baptiste. 

Quarta  in  honore  Assumptionis  beate  Marie. 

Quinta  in  honore  Sanctie    Trinitatis  et   om- 
nium Sanctorum. 

Fun.  Mon.  633. 

The  bells  at  Osney  Abbey,  near 
Oxford,  were  also  very  famous : 
their  names  were  Douce,  Clement, 
Austin,  Hautector  (potius  Haut- 
cleri),  Gabriel,  and  John. — Appen- 
dix to  Hearne's  "Collection  of 
Discourses  by  Antiquaries,"  No. 
11. 

Near  Old  Windsor  is  a  public- 
house,  vulgarly  called  the  Bells  of 
Bosely.  This  house  was  originally 
built  for  the  accommodation  of 
bargemen,  and  others  navigating 
the  river  Thames  between  London 


and  Oxford.     It  has  a  sign  of  six 
bells,  that  is,  the  bells  of  Osney. 

In  "The  Funeral  Monuments"  of 
Weever  are  the  following  particu- 
lars relating  to  bells: 

"  Funera  plango,  fulgura  frango,  sabbata 

pango, 
Excito  lentos,  dissipo  ventos,  paco  cruen- 

tos."  Page  122. 

"In  the  little  sanctuary  at  West- 
minster, King  Edward  III.  erected 
a  clochier,  and  placed  therein 
three  bells  for  the  use  of  St.  Ste- 
phen's chapel :  about  the  biggest 
of  them  were  cast  in  the  metal 
these  words  : 

"  King  Edward  made  me  thivtie  thousand 

weight  and  three ; 
Take  me  down,  and  wey  mee,  and  more  you 

shall  find  me." 

"  But  these  bellsbeing  taken  down 
in  the  reign  of  King  Henry  VIII. 
one  writes  underneath,  with  a  coal : 

"  But  Henry  the  Eight 

Will  bait  me  of  my  weight." — Page  492. 

This  last  distich  alludes  to  a  fact 
mentioned  by  Stow  in  his  "  Survey 
of  London,"  ward  of  Faringdon 
Within  ;  to  wit,  that  near  St.  Paul's 
school  stood  a  clochier,  in  which 
were  four  bells,  called  Jesus'  bells, 
the  greatest  in  all  England,  against 
which  Sir  Miles  Partridge  ststked 
a  hundred  pounds,  and  won  them 
of  King  Henry  VIII.  at  a  cast  of 
dice. 

It  is  said  that  the  foundation  of 
the  fortunes  of  the  Corsini  family 
in  Italy,  was  laid  by  an  ancestor  of 
it,  who,  at  the  dissolution  of  reli- 
gious houses,  purchased  the  bells 
of  abbeys  and  other  churches,  and 
by  the  sale  of  them  in  other  coun- 
tries acquired  a  very  great  estate. 
Nevertheless,  it  appears  that  abroad 
there  are  bells  of  a  great  magni- 
tude.    In  the  steeple  of  the  great 


MUSICAL   RltVlRW. 


105 


church  at  Ixouen,  in  Normandy,  is 
a  bell  with  this  inscription  : 

"  Jo  suis  George  d'Ambois, 
Qui  trentc  cinque  millc  puis; 
Mais  il  qui  me  pesera, 
Trente-six  millc  me  trouvera." 

M  I  am  George  of  Amboise, 
Thirty-five  thousand  in  poisj 

But  he  that  shall  weigh  me, 
Thirty-six  thousand  shall  find  me." 

And  it  is  a  common  tradition  that 
the  bells  of  King's  College  cha- 
pel, in  the  University  of  Cam- 
bridge, were  taken  by  Henry  V. 
from  some  church  in  France,  after 
the  battle  of  Agincourt.  They 
were  taken  down  some  years  ago, 
and  sold  to  Phelps,  the  bell-foun- 
der in  Whitechapel,  who  melted 
them  down. 

The  practice  of  ringing  bells  in 
change  is  said  to  be  peculiar  to 
this  country,  but  the  antiquity  of 
it  is  not  easily  to  be  ascertained. 
There  are  in  London  several  socie- 
ties of  ringers,  particularly  one 
called  the  College  Youths :  of  this, 
it  is  said,  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Court  of 
King's  Bench,  was,  in  his  youth, 
a  member;  and  in  the  life  of  this 


learned  and  upright  judge,  written 
by  Bishop  Burnet,  some  facts  are 
mentioned  which  favour  this  re- 
port. In  England  the  practice  of 
ringing  is  reduced  to  a  science, 
and  peals  bare  been  composed 
which  bear  the  names  of  the  in- 
ventors. Some  of  the  most  cele- 
brated peals  now  known  were  com- 
posed about  fifty  years  ago  by  one 
Patrick  :  this  man  was  a  maker  of 
barometers;  in  his  advertisements 
he  styled  himself  Torricellian  ope- 
rator, from  Torricelli,  who  invent- 
ed instruments  of  this  kind. 

In  the  year  1684,  one  Abraham 
Rudhall,  of  the  city  of  Gloucester, 
brought  the  art  of  bell-founding 
to  great  perfection.  His  descend- 
ants in  succession  have  continued 
the  business  of  casting  bells,  and 
by  a  list  published  by  them,  it  ap- 
pears that  at  Lady-day  1774,  the 
family,  in  peals  and  odd  bells,  had 
cast  to  the  amount  of  3594.  The 
peals  of  St.  Dunstan's  in  the  East, 
St.  Bride's,  London,  and  St.  Mar- 
tin's in  the  Fields,  Westminster, 
are  in  the  number. 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


A    Series  of  Caledonian   Airs,  with 
Variations  for  the  Piano-forte,  by 
J.F.Burrowes.  No.VI.  Pr.2s.6d. 
(Goulding  and  Co.) 
The  air  "  Charlie  is  my  darling," 
in  C  minor,  forms  the  theme  of  these 
variations,  in  which  we  observe  a 
diversity  of  character  more  marked 
and  striking  than  in  any  of  the  pre- 
ceding numbers.     This  has  been 
effected    by   changes   of    key,    of 
time,  and  of  movement;  and  yet, 
howsoever  great  the  variety  may 
Vol  X.  No.  LFL 


be,  the  main  features  of  the  pa- 
rent stock  are  throughout  more  or 
less  discernible.  We  refrain  from 
a  more  particular  analysis  of  the 
variations  themselves,  among  which 
we  find  a  largo,  presto,  march, 
quick  step,  pastorale,  polacca,  &.c. 
in  C  minor,  C  major,  and  E  fr  ma- 
jor, and,  lastly,  a  coda  of  very  in- 
teresting materials.  The  whole  is 
written  with  laudable  care,  replete 
with  marks  of  a  free  and  tasteful 
fancy,  purity  of  melodic  diction, 
P 


104 


MUSICAL    RKVIIlW. 


and  propriety  of  harmonic  struc- 
ture.    This  is  one  of  the  best  num- 
bers in  the  collection. 
Burrorces's  Overture, performed  at  the 
Philharmonic   Society  and  other 
Concerts,  arranged  as  a  Duet  for 
tzco  Performers  on  the  Piano-forte, 
by  the  Author.    Op.  13.     Pr.  4s. 
(Chappell  and  Co.  Bond  street). 
As  we  have  not  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  hearing  this  overture  in  full 
orchestra,  nor  seen  its  full  score, 
we  can  form  but  an  imperfect  idea 
of  its  nature.     But  so  far  as  the 
arrangement  for    the   piano-forte 
enables  us  to  infer,  the  composi- 
tion  appears  to  be  one   of  great 
merit,  full  of  spirit,  replete  with 
scientific  touches  of  the  higher  or- 
der, and  likely  to  produce  a  very 
striking    effect.      The  adaptation 
before  us,  forms  a  very  interesting 
and  brilliant  duet,  in  which  both 
parts  sustain  an  equal  share  of  the 
execution;  and  hence  require  play- 
ers of  some  experience  and  steadi- 
ness as  to  time. 

"  Di  tanti  palpiti"  composed  by 
Jiossini,  snug  by  Mrs.  Salmon,  ar- 
ranged as  a  Duet  for  the  Harp  and 
Piano-forte,  and  dedicated  to  Mrs. 
G.  Wright,  by  J.  Michael  Weip- 
part.  No.  I.  Pr.  4s.  (Preston, 
Strand). 

We  have  had  this  pretty  air  of 
Rossini's  before  us  in  various 
shapes,  but  it  is  impossible  to  be 
satiated  with  it.  Mr.  Weippart 
has  treated  it  as  a  duet,  absolutely 
concertante  between  the  harp  and 
the  piano-forte,  and  the  liberties 
he  has  taken  with  the  subject,  con- 
tribute greatly  to  give  the  per- 
formance the  advantage  of  tasteful 
variety.  We  have,  first,  a  short 
introduction;  then  comes  the  air 
iu  a  tolerably  authentic  and  com- 


plete state;  it  transforms  itself  next 
into  a  pleasing  waltz.  The  waltz 
is  followed  by  a  brief  adagio  por- 
tion, by  way  of  preparation  and 
contrast,  to  reintroduce  the  sub- 
ject; and  the  performance  con- 
cludes with  the  theme  alia  marcia, 
and  a  coda  deduced  therefrom.  Ail 
this  appears  to  be  done  in  proper 
style,  and  without  subjecting  ei- 
ther of  the  performers  to  any  pe- 
culiar executive  difficulties,  so  that 
there  can  be  little  doubt  of  the 
duet's  proving  an  agreeable  and 
effective  composition  for  both  in- 
struments. 
Palinodia  a  Nice,  in  thirteen  vocal 

Duets,   with    an    Accompaniment 

for  the  Piano-forte,  composed,  and 

dedicated,  by  permission,  to  II.  R. 

H.  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  by  J.  F. 

Danneley.     No.  I.     Pr.  2s.    (It. 

Harm.  Institution). 

Three  numbers  of  this  work  are 
published,  and  the  remainder,  Mr. 
D.  states,  are  to  follow  successive- 
ly. Want  of  leisure,  however, 
compels  us  to  confine  our  notice, 
at  present,  to  the  first  number. 

The  text  of  these  duets  is  from 
Metastasio,  and  a  metrical  English 
translation,  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  J. 
Cobbold,  is  subjoined  to  the  Italian 
words,  so  that  the  duets  may  be 
sung  in  either  language.  As  we 
once  were  employed  upon  a  similar 
task,  after  the  music  had  been  al- 
ready written  for  the  Italian  po- 
etr}',  we  can  perfectly  appreciate 
the  difficulties  of  such  an  under- 
taking:, and  are  therefore  the  more 
ready  to  acknowledge  the  very 
successful  manner  in  which  Mrs. 
C.  has  executed  the  translation. 

As  the  two  vocal  parts  are  set  in 
the  G  and  counter,  tenor-cleffs,  the 
secondo  part,  of  course,  is  intend- 


MUSICAL    ItKVILW 


105 


ed  for  a  male  voice.  The  first 
duet  is  in  B  b  major  and  f  time. 
We  are  not  sure,  however,  whe- 
ther ■}  was  not  intended ;  at  least, 
with  the  latter,  the  uneven  periods 
"  e  degno  di  pieta,"  would  fall 
within  the  extent  of  four  bars.  The  j 
general  complexion  of  the  melody 
is  satisfactory,  and  the  accompa- 
niments are  properly  varied.  To- 
wards the  conclusion,  in  particu- 
lar, the  piano-forte  affords  an  ac- 
tive and  effective  support. 
"  A  rose-bud  by  my  early  walk," 
a  Glee  for  four  Voices,  by  T.  Att- 
wood.  Pr.  2s.  (R.  Harm.  Insti- 
tution.) 

The  four  parts  of  this  glee  (in 
three  sharps)  arc,  treble,  alt,  te- 
nor, and  bass;  and  the  words,  in  the 
Scottish  dialect,  are  from  Burns. 
The  composition  has  the  merit  of 
regularity  as  to  plan,  good  combi- 
nation of  the  parts,  apposite  mu- 
sical expression  of  the  text,  and 
natural  connection  between  the 
thoughts  successively  following 
each  other. 

"  Donald  and  sJnuot,"  the  much  ad- 
mired Scotch  Ballad  sung  by  Miss 
Copclrmd,  a  ith  unbounded  applause, 
at  the  Surrey  Theatre,  in  the 
great  Caledonian  irjjectacle  called 
"  Montrose;"  the  Poetry  hy  F. 
Dibdin,  Esq.;  the  Music  by  J. 
Sanderson.  Pr.  Is.  (Hodsoll, 
High  Holborn.) 

This  is  a  pleasing  little  ballad,  of 
great  simplicity.  Artless  inno- 
cence is  the  predominant  feature 
in  its  melody,  which  isquite  Scotch. 
There  is  just  as  much  accompa- 
niment as  may  be  deemed  requi- 
site to  give  support  to  the  air, 
without  injuring  its  essential  cha- 
racter. 
*  La  petite  Bagatelle;'  for  the  Pi- 


ano- forte  or  Harp,  composed  by 
S.  F.  Uimbault.  No.  IV.  Pr.  Is. 
(Hodsoll.) 

Our  approbation  of  the  preced- 
ing numbers  of  this  series  may 
fairly  be  extended  to  this,  which 
contains  a  little  rondo  in  A  minor. 
The  subject,  alia  Tuna,  is  inter- 
esting; the  digressions  to  the  kin- 
dred keys,  C  major,  and  A  major, 
are  natural  and  analogous;  and  the 
different  parts  are  in  proper  keep- 
ing and  proportion.  Beginners 
cannot  be  supplied  with  fitter  ma- 
terials for  practice  and  improve- 
ment. 

"  La    Bellina"  a  favourite  Rondo 
for  the  Piano-forte  or  Harp,  com- 
posed by  T.  H.  Butler.     Pr.  2s. 
(Hodsoll). 

"  La  Bellina,"  like  "  La  Baga- 
telle," is  meant  for  the  lower  forms 
in  the  musical  academy:  it  is, 
however,  a  degree  higher  in  point 
of  execution,  and  has,  moreover, 
an  introductory  slow  movement, 
the  melodic  conception  and  rhyth- 
mic construction  of  which  are  such 
as  to  ensure  the  favour  of  the  pu- 
nil,  and  improve  Ids  taste.  The 
subject  of  the  rondo  is  agreeable; 
and  the  rondo,  throughout,  exhi- 
bits that  style  of  lively  ease,  and 
propriety  of  unaffected  diction, 
which  omrht  to  characterize  com- 
positions  of  this  class.  The  mo- 
dulations, however  (p.  3,  11.  5,  6), 
form  rather  an  exception :  they 
might  have  been  more  free,  and 
more  varied  as  to  form. 
The  celebrated  Hungarian  V/allz, 
with  Variations  for  the  Piano- 
forte, composed  by  T.  H.  Butler. 
Pr.2s.Gd.  (Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
Mr.  B.'s  treatment  of  this  justly 
popular  tune  is  entitled  to  a  re- 
spectable place  among  the  several 
P  2 


10(5 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


compositions  of  the  like  nature,  to 
which  the  same  air  has  given  rise. 
His  variations  are  written  with  con- 
siderable taste,  and  with  attention 
to  harmonic  purity.  The  fifth,  in 
particular,  claims  our  approbation 
on  account  of  the  fluency  and  neat- 
ness of  its  passages.  A  little  more 
variety  of  character,  time,  and 
even  of  key,  would  have  been  de- 
sirable. To  be  too  inflexibly  true 
to  the  theme,  ought  as  much  to  be 
avoided  as  to  swerve  into  extra- 
neous and  gratuitous  fancies.  In 
medio  tutissimus  ibis.  The  presto, 
at  the  conclusion,  forms  the  only 
exception  to  the  above  remark:  it 
is  in  |  time,  and  tells  well  in  that 
shape ;  but  the  coda  comes  in  some- 
what abruptly,  and  wants  analogy 
with  the  theme. 

i\t>.  /.  of  Spanish  Dances,  with  their 
appropriate  Figures,  as  danced  at 
the  Nobility's  Assemblies,  arrang- 
ed for  the  Piano-forte  or  Harp. 
Pr.  Is. 6d.   (Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
These  dances  carry  with  them 
intrinsic  evidence  of  their  authen- 
ticity, and   possess  some  features 
of  originality.     "  Las  Abas  de  Vit- 
toria"  is  an  interesting  tune,  and 
the  bolero  exhibits  all  the  grave 
formality  peculiar  to  this   dance. 
Of  the  figures,  which  are  given  in 
Spanish  and  English,  "  non  nobis 
est,"  is:c.     As  we  should  know  lit- 
tle  about   the   matter    were    they 
purely  English,  it  will  be  readily 


ed  to  a  popular  Caledonian  Melo* 
dij,  by  D.  A.  O'Meara,  Esq.;  the 
Symphonies   and  Accompaniments 
composed  by   C.  N.  Smith.     Pr. 
Is.  6d.     (Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
As  the  music  is  a  mere  fit  of  an 
old  tune  to  a  new  text,  all  we  have 
to  report  is,  that  it  is  a  good  fit. 
The  poetry  sings  kindly  to  the  me- 
lody, and  is  a  neat  sonnet  in  ad- 
miration of  female  tears,  which  the 
author  appears  to  prize  far  more 
than  the  smiles  of  the  fair.     To  own 
the  truth,  we  are  not  quite  so  far 
advanced   in    the   Ovidian    art    to 
agree  in  taste  with  Mr.  O'Meara. 
Wedlocked  as  we  are,  it  does  our 
heart  infinitely  more  good,  when 
returning   from    our   occupations, 
to  see  a  smile  upon  the   counte- 
nance of  our  conjugal  partner,  than 
to  observe  the"  diamond  dew  that 
sparkles  in  her  tear."     But  de  gus- 
tibus    non   est    disputandum.       We 
devoutly  hope,  however,  that  this 
lachrymose  taste  will   not  become 
universal,  else   what  a  life  might 
not  the  whole  fair  sex  lead?  For, 
however  difficult  it  may  sometimes 
be  to  excite  a  smile,  the  tear  may 
be  produced  without  great  efforts. 
"    When   the  Jlame  of  love    inspir- 
ing,''' a  Ballad,  adapted  to  the  po- 
pular Air,  "  Rousseau's  Dream,''' 
with   an   Accompaniment  for  the 
Piano-forte,    by  J.   Davy.      Pr. 
Is.  6d.   (Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
The  words  of  the  ballad,  written 


conceived,  that  the  Spanish  terms  j  by  Mr.  A.  Scott,  adapt  themselves 


"  Latigo,"  "  Paseo,"  "  Kueda," 
"  Esptjos,"  "  Barilete,"  "  Fren- 
tis,"  must  be  more  than  downright 
Greek  to  us. 

**    The  tsar  that  gems  dear  woman's 
en-',"  a  Ballad,  written,  and  adapt- 


very  naturally  to  the  simple  and 
elegant  little  air  known  by  the 
name  of  "  Rousseau's  Dream;" 
and  the  accompaniment  by  Mr. 
Davy  is,  in  every  respect,  satisfac-. 
tory  and  effective. 


ESS     o 


rVEIflLRG-      ©MESS 


107 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


PLATE  10. — WALKING   DRESS. 

A  hound  dress,  composed  of 
jaconot  muslin  :  the  skirt  is  mode- 
rately full  and  gored:  it  is  trim- 
med at  the  bottom  by  three  floun- 
ces of  rich  work  ;  each  flounce  is 
headed  by  a  muslin  bouillonne. 
High  body,  made  without  a  collar, 
to  fasten  behind,  and  ornamented 
with  a  row  of  work  disposed  in  a 
serpentine  wreath  round  the  bust. 
Sleeves  of  a  moderate  width,  fall- 
ing; very  long  over  the  hand,  and 
finished  with  bouillonne  edged  with 
work;  very  full  half-sleeve,  inter- 
spersed with  work  disposed  in  a 
wave,  to  correspond  with  the  last. 
— The  spencer  is  also  composed 
of  jaconot  muslin:  it  has  a  full 
back;  the  waist  is  of  moderate 
length,  and  is  finished  by  a  short 
full  jacket:  the  fronts  are  tight 
to  the  shape.  A  large  double  pe- 
lerine, trimmed  with  work,  almost 
conceals  the  lower  part  of  the 
spencer:  the  collar  is  made  high; 
it  stands  out  from  the  throat,  and 
is  also  richly  trimmed  with  work. 
Long  loose  sleeves,  finished  at  the 
hand  by  two  falls  of  work.  Head- 
dress, a  bonnet  composed  of  French 
net,  ornamented  with  chains  of 
French  gimp,  laid  crosswise  in  rows, 
and  interspersed  with  white  satin 
rouleaus:  the  crown  is  low;  the 
brim  more  than  usually  deep,  and 
finished  at  the  edge  by  a  quilling 
of  lace;  the  top  of  the  crown  is 
very  tastefully  ornamented  by  dra- 
peries of  net,  fastened  with  small 
white  satin  bows,  and  interspersed 
jiith  roses.     A    rich  ribbon  passes 


under  the  chin,  and  ties  in  a  full 
bow  on  one  side.  Black  kid  shoes; 
Limeric  gloves. 

PLATE   11. — EVENING    DRf.SS. 
A  round  dress,  composed  of  L'r- 
ling's  net,  over  a  white  satin  slip: 
the  dress  is  gored,  and  sufficiently 
i  full    to    hang   in  easy  folds  round 
the  figure  ;  the  bottom  of  the  skirt 
is    trimmed  with    flounces  of  Lr- 
ling's  lace,  headed  by  rouleaus  of 
white  zephyrine;  these  flounces  are 
festooned  in  a  singular  but  striking 
\   manner  with  bouquets  of  roses  and 
I   blue-bells.     The  tor  sage  \s  tight  to 
!  the   shape;    it   is   cut  moderately 
|!  low  round  the  bust,  which  is  orna- 
.;  mented   in    a  very  novel    manner 
with  lozenges  of  net,  each  lozenge 
formed    by    a    large     pearl  :    the 
front  of  the  corsage  is   also  deco- 
rated with  pearls.     The  sleeve  is 
very   short :   it  is    composed  of  a 
fulness  of  net    over   white    sati:», 
interspersed    with   pearls  laid    on 
in  waves  ;  the  bottom  of  the  sleeve 
is  finished    by   a    twisted  rouleau 
of  satin  and  pearls.     Hair  dressed 
in  the  French  style,  in  a  profusion 
of  full    curls,  which    are    brought 
very  low  at  the  sides  of  the  face, 
and   parted   in   the  middle  of  the 
forehead  so  as  partially  to  display 
it:  the  hind  hair  is  brought  up  in 
full  bows  on  the  crown  of  the  head  ; 
they   are  partly    concealed    by    a 
gariand  of  roses,  which  is   placed 
very  far  back  on  the  head.     Ear- 
rings and  necklace,  pearls.  White 
satin  slippers,  and  white  kid  glows. 
We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
point,  of  No.  9,   Henrietta- street. 


108 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND    DRESS. 


Covent- Garden,  inventress  of  the 
corset  a  la  Greeque,  for  both  these 
dresses. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON 
FASHION   AND    DRESS. 

Promenade  dresshas  now  assum- 
ed, generally  speaking,  that  light 
appearance  which  ought  to  charac- 
terize it  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
Silk  dresses  are  rarely  worn  for  the 
promenade  :  we  see,  it  is  true,  a 
few  pelisses  and  a  good  many 
spencers;  but  gowns  are  almost 
always  composed  of  muslin,  and 
the  spencer  or  pelisse  is  very  fre- 
quently of  the  same  material. 

Our  marchundes  de  modes  are  at 
this  moment  busy  in  making  up 
dresses  for  the  various  fashionable 
places  of  summer  resort;  among 
those  which  are  calculated  at  once 
for  the  promemade  and  for  morn- 
ing dress,  we  have  noticed  a  high 
robe  and  petticoat,  made  in  a  ve- 
ry novel  and  tasteful  style:  it  is 
composed  of  cambric  muslin  ;  the 
petticoat  is  trimmed  with  an  inter- 
mixture of  open  work  and  muslin 
houilloiwt;  the  former  is  let-in  in 
lozenges,  which  are  interspersed 
among  waves  of  the  latter:  this 
trimming  is  very  deep.  The  robe  II 
is  a  good  deal  shorter  than  the  11 
petticoat,  and  instead  of  meeting  ! 
in  front,  it  comes  no  farther  than 
the  arm-hole;  it  is  embroidered 
round  in  a  broad  rich  pattern,  to 
correspond  with  the  work  of  the 
petticoat.  The  body  is  made  high, 
and  in  a  very  rich  style;  the  up- 
per part  of  it  is  worked  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  robe.  The  collar, 
which  is  also  of  work,  is  cut  in 
three  points,  which  fall  on  the 
shoulders  and  in  the  middle  of  the 


back.  The  lower  part  of  the  body 
is  composed  of  cambric  muslin ; 
the  back  is  full,  of  a  moderate 
breadth  in  the  middle,  but  taper- 
ing down  at  each  side,  so  as  to  be 
much  narrower  than  usual  at  the 
bottom.  The  fronts  wrap  across, 
and  fasten  in  the  middle  of  the 
back  with  a  small  rosette  of  work. 
The  sleeves  are  very  wide  ;  they 
are  worked  at  the  bottom  part  to 
correspond  with  the  robe :  the 
epaulette  consists  of  a  single  fall 
of  work,  deep  at  the  hind  part, 
and  shallow  in  front  of  the  arm. 
This  dress  is  upon  the  whole  one 
of  the  most  striking  novelties  we 
have  lately  seen  in  morning  cos- 
tume. 

We  have  seen  also  some  cam- 
bric and  jaconot  muslin  pelisses 
made  without  collars,  with  large 
pelerines,  which  fall  almost  as  low 
as  the  bottom  of  the  waist :  these 
pelissess  are  made  in  general  with 
loose  bodies,  and  to  wrap  across 
in  front.  Some  are  trimmed  round 
with  work,  others  with  tucks  boiul- 
lonne,  or  puffed  muslin,  and  some 
few  have  trimmings  of  clear  mus- 
lin laid  on  full,  with  coloured  rib- 
bon run  through  them. 

Bonnets  have  not  altered  in  size, 
nor  materially  in  shape,  since  last 
month.  We  observe  that  silk  ones 
are  now  little  worn  even  in  walk- 
ing dress;  transparent  bonnets,  or 
those  that  are  partly  so,  being  as 
indiscriminately  adopted  in  walk- 
ing as  in  carriage  dress.  We  have 
seen  some  the  crowns  of  which 
were  composed  of  silk;  and  the 
brims  of  net,  gauze,  or  crape : 
these  bonnets  are  novel,  and  have 
a  pretty  effect.  Lace  is  now  the 
most  fashionable  material  for  the 
edges  of  the  brims  of  bonnets,  and 


GENKttAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


109 


artificial  flowers  are  as  much  worn     gowns  arc  still  worn  trimmed  very 
to  decorate  the  crowns  of  them  as     high:  they  are  made  in  general  to 

fasten  behind,  and  are  usually 
tight  to  the  shape  :  the  busts  of 
some  are  very  profusely  ornament- 
ed   with    letting -in    lace;     others 


ever. 

Rich   white    silk    spencers    are  ; 
much  in  favour  in   carriage  dr.  •>.;, 
as  are  also  white  lace  scarfs.    Clear 


muslin  pelisses,  without  silk,  lin-  i  have  the  shape  of  the  bosom  form- 
ings, have  been  recently  introdu-  T  ed  by  white  satin  rouleaus  dispo- 
ced,  and  seem  likely  to  be  much  sod  in  the  form  of  a  stomacher, 
worn;  they  are  made  with  full  and  finished  by  small  bows  of  white 
backs:  some  are  trimmed  with  ribbon  up  the  middle  of  the  bust, 
lace,  others  have  a  trimming  of  sleeves  are  universally  worn  short 
ribbon  disposed  in  a  mosaic  pat-  and  full,  but  we  do  not  observe 
tern;  it  is  sometimes  mixed  with  much  novelty  in  their  form, 
muslin,  at  others  with  ribbon  of  a  !!  There  is  much  variety  in  the 
different  colour:  these  pelisses  ;  trimmings  of  muslin  dresses;  a 
have  in  general  pelerines,  some  of  good  many  are  decorated  by  a  rao- 
which  are  now  made  in  the  latest  j  saic  trimming  of  ribbon,  sometimes 
French  fashion  ;  that  is  to  say,  with  j  headed  by  a  rouleau  of  satin,  and 
three  points.  always  finished  by  a  deep  flounce 

We  see  with  pleasure  that  waists  i  of  lace.     Another  very  fashionable 
do  not  increase  in  length;  on  the     style  of  trimming,  and  one  that  is 


contrary,  we  have  observed,  in 
some  instances,  that  they  were  a 
little,  but  it  must  be  owned  very 
little,  shorter.  The  backs  of  gowns 
are  moderately  wide  at  top,  but 
they  are  much  narrower  at  bottom 
than  they  have  recently  been  made. 
High  gowns  are  now  mostly  made 
without  collars,  and  low  ones  are 
cut  in  a  very  decorous  style  in  ge- 


equally  novel  and  pretty,  is  a  chain 
composed  of  ribbons  of  two  differ- 
ent colours :  this  is  laid  on  in 
waves,  and  between  each  wave  a 
satin  or  muslin  puff  is  let  in;  there 
are  in  general  two  rows  of  this 
trimming.  A  third  sort,  which 
has  a  very  novel  effect,  consists  of 
one  or  two  rows  of  pointed  muslin 
trimming,    made   very   deep    and 


neral  round  the  bust:  we  are  very  ;  edged  with  narrow  lace;  a  broad 
glad  that  it  is  so,  for  we  hate  to  |  band  of  coloured  satin  is  laid  un- 
see  fashion,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  |  der  these  points,  and  each  of  them 


at  variance  with  decency  :  a  pro- 
pos  to  decency,  our  gowns  are  at 
present  long  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  rigid  observer  of  decorum; 
our  short  sleeves  are  also  of  a  very 
modest  length;  in  short,  for  once 
fashion  and  delicacj7  seem  to  join 
in  presiding  at  the  toilet  of  British 
beauty. 

•  In  dinner  dress,  muslin  is  much 
more  worn  than  silk,  though  the 


is  fastened  down  either  by  a  silk 
ornament,  or  a  bow  or  rosette  of 
ribbon. 

Lace  and  gauze  are  at  present 
most  fashionable  in  full  dress  ;  but 
silks  are  still  very  much  worn. 
Blond  and  tulle  mixed  with  satin 
are  most  in  favour  for  trimmings  ; 
thread  lace  is  also  in  very  great 
request ;  and  chain  trimming,  made 
either    of    ribbon    or    of    plaited 


latter  is  also  in  estimation.    Dinner  [j  silk  cord,  is  very  fashionable. 


no 


FitliNCII    V  EM  ALE    FASHIONS. 


The  hair  is  worn  dressed  mode- 
rately high  behind:  the  front  hair 
is  disposed  in  luxuriant  curls, 
which  fall  very  low  on  each  cheek ; 
these  curls  form  a  very  thick  clus- 
ter on  each  temple  :  they  have  a 
heavy  appearance,  and  are  by  no 
means  generally  becoming.  The 
middle  of  the  forehead  and  eye- 
brows are  partially  displayed. 

Caps  are  very  much  worn  in  half 
dress:  they  are  always  small;  are 


composed  of  net  or  lace  of  out 
own  manufacture,  and  are  adorned 
with  flowers.  In  full  dress,  the 
head  is  very  rarely  covered;  the 
cocjjure  is  always  of  feathers  or 
flowers,  but,  generally  speaking, 
the  latter  predominates. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  evening 
primrose,  pale  rose-colour,  apple- 
green,  azure,  lilac,  peach-blossom, 
damask  rose-colour,  straw-colour, 
and  very  pale  slate-colour. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS 

Paius,  July  13, 


My  dear  Sophia, 

Our  promenade  dress  has 
undergone  a  good  many  changes 
since  I  wrote  to  you  last.  Very 
soon  after  I  had  despatched  my 
letter,  the  weather  became  so  ex- 
tremely hot,  that  we  discarded  our 
ruffs  and  collarettes:  a  few  days, 
however,  obliged  us  to  resume  not 
only  them,  but  even  our  silk  spen- 
cers likewise.  Many  belles,  indeed 
were  not  content  with  spencers 
only,  but  added  warm  shawls  to 
them,  so  that  our  promenades  had 
very  little  the  appearance  of  sum- 
mer. Now,  however,  we  have 
once  more  resumed  the  gay  cos- 
tume of  the  season,  and  ou-r  pub- 
lic walks  are  filled  with  white- 
robed  belles,  whose  attire,  though 
becoming  and  tasteful,  is  not  suffi- 
ciently varied  to  afford  much  scope 
for  description.  A  woman,  how- 
ever, rarely  wants  words  in  speaking 
of  dress;  and  if  I  cannot  present 
you  with  very  striking  descrip- 
tkms;  you  shall  at  least  have  very 
minute  ones. 

Our  waists  continue  the  same 
length,  but  I  have  the  pleasure  to 
tell  you,  peaked  dresses  are  upon 


the  decline.  I  am  very  glad  of 
this,  because  they  were  very  unbe- 
coming to  the  shape,  and  had  a  for- 
mal and  unnatural  effect.  Our 
gowns  are  rather  tighter  in  the 
skirt  and  less  gored  than  they 
were  a  short  time  back,  but  they 
are  still  wide  enough  not  to  be  un- 
graceful. 

By  far  the  greatest  number  of 
dresses  are  ornamented  with  em- 
broidery; some  of  those  which  are 
not,  are  trimmed  with  a  mixture  of 
tucks  and  flounces:  a  very  deep 
flounce,  which  has  in  general  one 
or  two  narrow  tucks  above  the 
hem,  is  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the 
dress,  and  is  always  disposed  in 
large  deep  plaits  :  immediately 
over  this,  five  or  six  deep  tucks 
are  run  close  to  each  other;  they 
are  surmounted  by  a  flounce,  to 
correspond  with  that  at  the  bottom, 
and  above  this  flounce  is  placed  a 
corresponding  number  of  tucks  : 
the  trimming  is  consequently  very 
deep. 

A  more  novel,  and  by  far  a  pret- 
tier style  of  trimming  is  composed 
of  cockades  of  clear  muslin,  let-in 
in  puffs:  dresses  trimmed  in  this 
manner  have  in  general  a  narrow 


FJtEXCH    FliMAUi    FASHION'S. 


Ill 


flounce  laid-in  in  a  wave  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  dress:  there  are  three 
or  four  rows  of  the  puffs  let-in  in 
an  irregular  manner;  the  top  row 
is  surmounted  by  a  slight  wave  of 
embroidery.  This  trimming  looks 
much  better  than  our  formal  tucks 
and  flounces  :  there  is,  however, 
rather  too  much  of  it. 

Where  the  bottom  of  the  dress 
is  ornamented  with  embroidery,  it 
is  sometimes  surmounted  by  a  full 
rouleau  of  muslin,  adorned  with  a 
narrow  flounce  of  work  at  each 
edge. 

The  bodies  of  dresses  still  fasten 
behind:  they  are  now  rarely  made 
quite  up  to  the  throat ;  they  are  in 
general  of  a  three-quarter  height, 
so  as  to  leave  the  throat  and  a  little 
of  the  bust  bare  :  the  bosom  of  the 
dress  has  no  other  trimming  than  a 
plain    band   of  muslin,    or   if  the 
gown  is  embroidered,  a  narrow  row 
of  embroidery.     A  light  shawl,  or 
a  muslin  or  lace  sautoir,  tied  at  the 
throat,  renders  it  an  out-door  dress. 
The  sleeves   of    dresses   are   still 
worn  tight:  those  that  are  trimmed 
in   the  cockade  style,  have  gene- 
rally the  body  and  sleeves  made  to 
correspond     with    the    skirt ;    the 
others  are  made  in  the  same  style 
as  I  described  to  you  in  my  last  let- 
ter.    A  few  dresses  are  finished  by  ■ 
a  double  fall  of  work  at  the  bottom  j 
of  the  waist :  it  has  very  little  ful-  j 
ness  in  front,   but  a  good  deal  be- 
hind.     Plaid  sashes  are.  now  uni-  \ 
versally  worn ;  they  are  very  broad,  j 
and  tied  in  full  bows  behind,  with  ! 
very  long  ends:  the  prettiest  are  j 
those  of  bright  pink  and  white,  or  j 
pale  rose  colour   and  light  blue:! 
but  these  are  by  no  means  the  most 
fashionable;  on  the  contrary,  those 
dark  full   colours  which  contrast  j 

VolX,  No.LVT. 


badly,  and  arc  also  inappropriate 
to  the  season,  are  in  the  most  fa- 
vour; as  for  instance,  ponceau  and 
orange,  ruby  and  sage-green,  dark 
brown  and  blue. 

Our  head-dresses  are  not  near  so 
light  as  usual  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  Gauze  and  crape  have  for 
some  seasons  past  been  the  favour- 
ite materials  for  summer  chateaux : 
now,  however,  white  straw,  Leg- 
horn, and  silk  are  considered  most 
fashionable,  particularly  the  two 
former.  Bonnets  are  still  of  a 
moderate  size,  and  at  this  moment 
they  are  worn  without  any  trimming 
at  the  edge  of  the  brim.  Those 
composed  of  Leghorn  are  never 
lined  ;  those  of  white  straw  mav 
be  lined  or  not,  according  to  the 
fancy  of  the  wearer;  but  those  of 
gros  de  Naples,  or  other  silk,  are 
lined  always.  The  few  hats  that 
are  made  in  crape  or  gauze  are  in 
general  transparent:  sometimes, 
however,  these  materials  are  laid 
over  silk;  when  that  is  the  case, 
the  brims  are  always  houitUnme* 
and  the  crape  or  gauze  is  either 
fluted  or  disposed  in  folds  on  the 
crown. 

The  crowns  of  bonnets  are  of 
two  shapes  only— those  that  are 
round,  and  those  like  a  man's  hat: 
the  brims  are  all  rounded  at  the 
corners,  and  long  enough  to  reach 
the  bottom  of  the  chin:  this  fashion 
is,  generally  speaking,  unbecom- 
ing. Feathers  or  Bowers,  or  some- 
times a  mixture  of  both,  ornament 
c/iapeaux.  Marabouts  are  very 
much  in  favour,  as  are  ostrich  fea- 
thers :  these  latter  are  in  general 
of  two  colours,  or  rather,  if  I  mav 
use  the  expression,  striped;  that 
is  to  say,  a  white  feather  is  tinged 
in  the  middle  and  at  the  edges 
Q 


112 


I-'KLNCH    fEMALfc    FASHIONS. 


with  another  colour:  the  favourite 
colours  of  these  striped  feathers 
are  pink,  lilac,  and  blue.  I  must 
not  forget  to  observe,  that  we  al- 
ways wear  as  many  as  five  or  six. 
When  the  hat  is  ornamented  with 
ostrich  feathers,  there  is  generally 
one  suffered  to  fall  over  towards 
the  back  part  of  it,  almost  to  the 
throat. 

Ostrich  feathers  are  never  mix- 
ed with  flowers,  but  marabouts  are 
very  frequently.  The  feathers  are 
placed  upright  on  one  side  of  the 
chapeau,  and  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  go  half  round  it,  and  a  half- 
wreath  of  flowers  is  placed  at  their 
base.  Those  hats  that  are  adorned 
with  flowers  only,  have  always  a 
large  bouquet,  in  which  ears  of 
ripe  corn  are  mixed  with  garden 
or  field  flowers,  or  sometimes  with 
both.  I  have  seen  lately  some  hats 
adorned  with  a  wreath  very  whim- 
sically composed  of  knots  of  rib- 
bon, flowers,  and  ears  of  corn. 
This  kind  of  decoration  is  a  good 
deal  used  for  the  chapcinix  des  Boli- 
vars, which  is  the  name  of  our 
most  fashionable  bonnet.  There 
is  nothing  remarkable  in  it,  except 
that  the  crown  is  still  lower,  and 
the  brim  wider,  than  the  others. 

Since  the  weather  has  become 
so  warm,  a  loose  breakfast  robe 
has  been  introduced,  which  is  con- 
venient and  appropriate,  though 
not  remarkably  tasteful  or  elegant. 
It  is  composed  of  perkale,  is  open 
in  front,  and  loose  in  the  body  ;  it 
has  no  collar,  but  comes  nearly  to 
the  throat,  and  is  finished  round 
the  bust  by  a  full  fall  of  thin  jaco- 
not  muslin,  which  forms  a  kind  of 
full  pelerine:  it  is  trimmed  all 
round  with  a  fluted  band  of  jaco- 
not  muslin.     The  sleeves  are  verv 


long  and  loose ;  they  are  finished  at 
the  hand  to  correspond  with  the 
trimming  ;  it  fastens  at  the  throat 
by  a  bow  of  coloured  ribbon,  and 
a  sash,  to  correspond,  confines  it 
at  the  waist. 

Home  dinner  dress  is,  generally 
speaking,  that  worn  for  the  pro- 
menade ;  and  muslin  is  more  in  fa- 
i  vour  for  parties  than  silk,  but  not 
|  so  much  so  as  gauze  or  crape  ;  the 
:  former,  in  particular,  is  very  much 
in  estimation. 

Dress  gowns  are  made  low,  but 
not  indecorously  so  :  those  in 
gauze  or  crape  are  trimmed  either 
with  artificial  flowers,  embroidery 
in  coloured  silks,  or  draperies  of 
the  same  material  as  the  gown, 
which  are  looped  either  with  pearls, 
knots  of  ribbon,  or  flowers.  Short 
sleeves  are  universally  worn  in  full 
dress. 

Our  present  style  of  hair-dress- 
ing is  very  bad:  the  front  hair  is 
disposed  in  thickcurls,  which  near- 
ly cover  the  forehead,  and  have  a 
II  formal  heavy  appearance:  the  hind 
j|  hair  is  more  tastefully  arranged ;  it 
is  disposed  in  plaits  and  bows, 
which  are  brought  moderately 
high.  We  still  retain  our  penchant 
for  head-dresses  of  hair;  but  flow- 
ers are  not  so  universally  worn  in 
full  dress  as  when  I  wrote  last,  fea- 
thers being  now  almost  as  general- 
ly adopted  ;  and  in  many  instances 
the  hair  is  adorned  with  pearls  only. 
I  saw  the  other  night  at  the  house 
of  a  very  dashing  tltgante,  a  head- 
dress more  than  usually  striking, 
and  one  which  I  thought  as  novel 
as  it  was  elegant.  A  garland  of 
short  marabouts  intermixed  with 
diamond  stars  was  placed  very  far 
back  upon  the  head  ;  and  a  wreath 
of  white  roses,  formed  of  the  down 


■■■■a 


m  I 

H  I 


MMMMMH  ; 


'-.'•*; 


- 


A    RUSSIAN    DUOSCIII. 


113 


of  the  feather,  was  arranged  among 
the  front  hair,  so  as  to  he  onl}-- 
parti)'  visible,  and  to  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  restraining  its  luxuri- 
ance. I  must  once  more  return  to 
the  promenade  costume,  for  1  see 
that  I  have  forgotten  to  tell  you, 
that  white  gauze  veils  are  very 
much  in  fashion. 

The  colours  most  in  estimation 


at  present  are,  azure,  lilac,  laven- 
der, and  rose  colour.  a  Always  rose 
colour!"  methinks  I  hear  you  say: 
it  may  indeed,  my  dear  friend,  be 
termed  the  national  hue  of  this 
lively  people ;  and  that  it  mayal- 
i  ways  be  the  colour  of  my  Sophia's 
future  days,  is  the  truest  wish  of 
her 

Eudocia. 


Plate  9.— A  RUSSIAN  DROSCHI. 


W8  inserted  in  our  number  for 
January  last  (p.  43),  a  notice  of  a 
gift  received  by  his  present  Ma- 


ference  between  this  carriage  and 
that  sent  by  the  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many is,  that  the  former  only  ac- 


jesty  from  the  Emperor  of  Ger-  ||  commodates  one  person  in  the  bo- 
many:  it  consisted  of  a  four-  J  dy  ;  but  the  shape,  as  will  be  seen, 
wheeled  carriage,  called  a  droschi,  |  is  peculiarly  elegant,  and  the  whole 


with   Ackermann's    patent    move- 
able axles. 

The  annexed  engraving  is  made 
from  a  drawing  of  a  vehicle  in  ma- 
ny respects  similar,  and  also  called 
a  droschi,  received  by  his  Majesty  i 
very  recently  from   the   Emperor  I 
of  Russia.     The  chief  point  of  dif-  I 


is  of  the  most  excellent  workman- 
ship. It  is  to  be  remarked,  that 
although  carriages  of  this  conve- 
nient description  are  rare  in  Great 
Britain,  yet  in  Russia  they  are  ex- 
tremely common,  and  are  used  by 
all  classes,  from  the  Emperor  him- 
self down  to  the  humblest  citizen. 


THE  SELECTOR  : 

Consisting  oj  interesting  Extracts  from  new  popular  Publications. 


OF  THE  EDUCATION  OF  MADAME  DE  STAEL,  AND  HER 

EARLY  YEARS. 

(From   Sketch  of  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Madame  de  Stael,  by  Madame 

Necker  de  Saussure.) 


In  consequence  of  her  mother's  | 
system  of  education,  Mademoiselle  | 
Necker  thus  at  the  same  time  stu-  i 
died  assiduously,  heard  many  con- 
versations on  subjects  beyond  her  j 
years,  and  was  present  at  the  re-  j 
presentation  of  the  best  theatrical 
pieces.     Her  pleasure  as  well  as 
duties    all    exercised    her    under- 
standing; and  nature,  which  Itself- 11  was  a  writer  from  the  earliest  youth. 

Q  2 


gave  her  a  fondness  for  this,  was 
seconded  in  every  way.  Intellec- 
tual faculties  of  great  energy,. thus 
acquired  a  prodigious  increase. 
In  1781,  when  the  Compte  rendu  was 
published,  Mademoiselle  Necker 
wrote  a  very  remarkable  anony- 
mous letter  to  her  father,  who  soon 
discovered  her  by  its  style.     She 


114 


t:ducation,   &c.  of  madam rc  dk  stakl. 


She  composed  eulogies  and  por- 
traits. At  fifteen  she  made  ex- 
tracts from  the  Spirit  of  Laws, 
with  remarks.  Abbe  Raynal  wish- 
ed to  prevail  on  her  to  write  some- 
thing on  the  revocation  of  the 
edict  of  Nantes  for  his  great  work. 
This  inclination  for  writing  was 
not  encouraged  by  Mr.  Necker, 
which  nothing  but  her  decided  ex- 
cellence could  have  induced  him 
to  pardon,  for  he  was  naturally 
averse  to  female  authors. 

The  sensibility  of  this  lady  was 
equally  quick.  The  praise  of  her 
parents  filled  her  eyes  with  tears: 
of  Madame  Huher  she  was  pas- 
sionately fond:  at  the  sight  of  a 
person  of  celebrity,  her  heart  would 
palpitate.  What  she  read  too,  over 
the  selection  of  which  Madame 
Necker,  more  severe  than  vigilant, 
did  not  always  preside,  produced 
an  extraordinary  impression  on  her. 
She  has  since  said,  that  the  earn- 
ing away  of  Clarissa  was  one  of  the 
events  of  her  youth.  Nature  had 
given  Madame  de  Stael,  with  great 
susceptibility,  something  of  seri- 
ousness and  gravity,  which  already 
appeared  in  her  compositions,  as 
well  as  in  her  literary  tastes.  "  What 
pleased  her,"  says  Madame  Ril- 
iiet,  M  was  what  made  her  -shed 
tears/' 

So  many  stimulants,  such  pow- 
erful incentives,  where,  for  the 
securing  of  happiness  at  leas.t,  a 
curb  is  wanting,  gave  a  wonderful 
activity  to  the  moral  beintj  ;  but  the 
physical  being  suffered  from  this, 
and  her  lessons  in  particular  ex- 
hausted powers  too  strongly  excit- 
ed. Long  continued  attention  was 
always  fatiguing  to  Madame  de 
Stat  1,  and  the  depth  of  her  attain- 
ments on  difficult   subjects   is  so 


much  the  more  surprising.  A  sin- 
gular sagr.city  carried  her  forward 
to  the  goal,  without  her  being  per- 
ceived in  the  career. 

The  health  of  the  young  lady, 
now  fourteen,  declining  daily,  Dr. 
Tronchin  was  called  in.  He  ex- 
cited alarm,  prescribing  an  imme- 
diate journey  into  the  country,  the 
society  of  Madame  Huber,  and  to 
pass  the  day  in  the  open  air,  re- 
linquishing all  serious  study. 

On  this  occasion,  Madame  Neck- 
er was  equally  vexed  and  disap- 
pointed. This  new  plan  overset 
all  hers.  Her  ambitious  views  for 
her  daughter  were  great,  and  to 
renounce  the  vast  acquisition  of 
knowledge  was,  in  her  opinion,  to 
renounce  all  distinction.  She  had 
not  that  pliability  which  enables 
us  to  vary  our  means;  and  being- 
no  longer  able  to  promote  the  pro- 
gress of  her  daughter  in  her  own 
wa}',  she  ceased  to  consider  it  as 
her  own  work. 

The  liberty  thus  given  to  the 
mind  of  Mademoiselle  Necker, 
however,  was  precisely  what  en- 
abled it  to  take  so  high  a  flight. 
With  her  a  life  entirely  poetical 
succeeded  to  a  life  of  study,  and 
the  abundant  nutriment  all  flowed 
to  the  imagination.  She  wandered 
amidst  the  thickets  of  St.  Ouen, 
with  her  friend,  and  the  two  young 
ladies,  clothed  as  nymphs  or  mu- 
ses, recited  verses,  composed  po- 
ems, or  wrote  plays,  which  they 
immediately  acted. 

Another  happy  consequence  of 
this  want  of  employment  to  Made- 
moiselle Necker  was,  that  she  could 
avail  herself  of  all  the  leisure  of 
her  father.  Seizing  every  oppor- 
tunity of  being  with  him,  she  found 
extraordinary  advantages,  as  well 


•-DICATION,    &.C.    OF    M.\DAMJ.    DT.    STAM..  115 

as  pleasure,  in  his  conversation,  i  herself  possessed,  and  she  pleased 
Mr.  Nicker  was  daily  more  struck  precisely  by  those  that  were  most 
with  his  daughter's  wit,  and  never  dangerous  to  her  happiness.  Ma- 
was  this  wit  more  pleasing  than  (  dame  Xecker  was  tempted  to  de- 
with  him.  She  soon  perceived,  precate  a  successobtained  contrary 
that  his  mind  required  to  he  un-  to  her  advice,  while  this  success 
bent  and  amused  ;  and  she  assumed  j  seemed  to  hear  testimony  against 
a  thousand  forms,  tried  every  tiling.  :  the  propriety  of  that  advice  itself: 
hazarded  every  thing,  to  obtain  i  Besides,  Mademoiselle  Xecker 
from  him  a  smile.  Mr.  Xecker  was  was  guiitv  of  a  thousand  giddc- 
not  prodigal  of  commendation,  his  nesses.  Carried  awav  bv  her  viva- 
city, she  was  incessantly  commit- 


looks  were  more  flattering  than  bis 
words;  and  he  found  it  more  amus-  ting  faults;  and,  while  her  mother 
ing,  as  well  as  more  necessary,  to  considered  little  things  as  append- 
point  out  what  was  amiss  than  what  jj  ages  of  great  ones,  trifles  were  of 
was  meritorious.  His  raillery  was  .:  no  consequence  in  her  eves.  To 
close  at  the  heels  of  the  slightest  I  avoid  any  appearance  of  disobe- 
fault;  no  false  pretensions,  no  ex-  dience,  she  would  place  herself  at 
aggeration,  nothing  erroneous  of  I  a  little  distance  behind  her  father; 
any  kind,  could  pass  unnoticed.  jj  but  soon  some  man  of  wit  would 
"  I  am  indebted  to  the  incredible  |  separate  from  the  circle,  then  an- 
penetration  of  my  father,"  Ma-  other,  then  a  third,  and  a  noi^y 
dame  de  Stael  has  often  said,  '•  for  :  gttmn  wouid  form  around  her.  Mr. 
the  frankness  of  my  character,  and  Xecker  wouid  smile  involuntarily 
the  artlessness  of  mv  mind.  He  (  at  something  smart  that  caught  his 
unmasked  aitectation  of  every  kind,  j  ear,  and  the  original  point  of  dis- 
and  in  his  company  I  acquired  the  ,  cussion  was  altogether  interrupted, 
habit  of  thinking  that  even-  one  Xo  jealousy,  unconnected  with 
saw  clearly  into  my  heart."  the  affections  of  her  husband,  could 

These  conversations,  from  which  possibly  enter  into  the  exalted 
Madame  Xecker  was  not  excluded,  mind  of  Madame  Xecker.  If  her- 
but  the  nature  of  which  was  altered  <  daughter  had  surpassed  her  in  her 
by  her  presence,  could  not  be  per-  own  sphere  of  excellence,  she 
fectly  agreeable  to  her.  She  pos-  would  have  enjoyed  her  success, 
sessed  in  a  high  degree  the  admi-  ■  which  would  have  appeared  the 
ration,  the  confidence,  and  even  j  consequence  of  her  own.  She 
the  love  of  her  husband;  yet  her  would  have  thought  her  husband 
daughter  was  better  suited  than  she  loved  her  in  her  daughter.  But 
to  a  certain  pointedness  and  unex-  '  there  was  nothing  here  she  could 
pected  turn,  occasionally  observed  claim  for  herself;  everv  thing  seem- 
in  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Xecker.  ed  to  spring  from  nature;  and 
Theyoung  lady  possessed  themen-  '•  while  Mr.  Xecker  was  enraptured 
tal  qualities  of  her  mother,  with  with  a  mind  without  B  rr. 
many  others  in  addition.  Madame  well  as  without  an  equal,  she  ex* 
Xecker  would  have  wished  that  her  i  perienced  impatience  and  vexa- 
daughter  should  have  please  tiorrj  and    a   little   disapprob;/. 

no   other  qualities  than    what  she     concrc'.;.-:!  sivalry  from  lit 


116 


KDtfCATION,    &C.    OF   MADAME    DTi   STAKL. 


As  to  her,  there  was  but  one 
road  to  her  approbation.  I  remem- 
ber, when  the  fame  of  Madame  de 
Stael  was  quite  new  to  me,  I  ex- 
pressed to  Madame  Necker  my  as- 
tonishment at  the  prodigious  dis- 
tinction she  enjoyed.  "  It  is  no- 
thing," answered  she,  "  absolutely 
nothing  to  what  I  would  have  made 
of  her!"  This  answer  struck  me 
forcibly,  because  it  referred  solely 
to  the  qualities  of  the  mind,  and 
expressed  the  most  perfect  convic- 
tion. The  extreme  gentleness  of 
Mademoiselle  Necker's  disposi- 
tion was  striking  when  her  mother 
reproved  her.  Perhaps,  proud  of 
her  success  with  her  father,  and 
every  man  of  eminence,  she  did 
not  attach  sufficient  value  to  the 
approbation  of  Madame  Necker, 
and  did  not  exert  herself  suffici- 
ently to  obtain  it;  but  her  respect 
for  her  mother  was  always  profound, 
and  openly  expressed.  Endowed 
from  infancy  with  the  gift  of  those 
lively  and  discreet  repartees,  that 
infringe  no  duty,  and  wound  no 
truth,  she  never  uttered  a  syllable 
that  in  the  slightest  degree  placed 
her  mother  in  a  disadvantageous 
light. 

I  shall  add  but  a  few  words  more 
of  Madame  Necker,  for  her  influ- 
ence over  her  daughter  terminated 
here.  This  influence  was  of  two 
kinds.  From  the  parent  were  trans- 
mitted to  the  daughter  an  ardent 
mind,  strong  feelings,  an  enthu- 
siastic love  of  the  beautiful  and 
sublime,  an  acute  taste  for  wit,  for 
talents  of  all  kinds,  for  every  sort 
of  eminence.  On  the  other  hand, 
altogether  involuntarily  no  doubt, 
she  impelled  her  daughter  to  con- 
trast herself  with  her.  Mademoi- 
selle Necker  had  suffered  from  the 


restraint  imposed  upon  her  by  her 
mother;  and  while  she  was  sensi- 
ble that  she  possessed  many  talents 
and  virtues,  it  seemed  to  her,  that 
every  thing  would  go  right,  if  all 
effort  were  avoided.  She  fancied 
she  could  become,  by  the  mere 
movement  of  a  good  heart,  by  the 
happy  impulse  of  a  mind  well  born, 
every  thing  that  her  mother  had 
been  made  by  dint  of  reason  and 
guidance;  and  she  was  desirous  of 
being  the  representative  of  natural 
endowments,  because  her  mother 
was  that  of  acquired  qualities. 

This  intention,  which  unques- 
tionably was  but  half-formed,  still 
influenced  too  long  the  judgment 
of  Madame  de  Stael.  Her  admi- 
ration for  virtues  of  spontaneous 
impulse  was  too  exclusive,  and  re- 
duced too  much  to  a  system.  Na- 
tural qualities  are  the  mostamiable, 
no  doubt;  but  to  what  purpose 
should  we  exalt  them  ?  Are  men  to 
be  stimulated  either  to  be  proud  of 
what  they  are,  or  to  despair  of 
what  they  might  become?  And 
what  upon  earth  is  more  worthy  of 
esteem  than  a  virtuous  will? 

Madame  de  Stael  herself  ac- 
knowledged this,  when  her  ideas 
were  matured  by  reflection,  and 
particularly  when  religion,  better 
understood,  and  more  strongly  felt, 
displayed  things  to  her  in  a  truer 
light.  Thus  every  passing  year 
tau<rht  her  to  feel  more  iustlv  the 

o  °  >  t 

merit  of  "Madame  Necker.  "  The 
longer  I  live,"  she  once  said  to  me, 
"  the  better  I  understand  my  mo- 
ther, and  the  more  my  heart  in- 
clines towards  her." 

We  may  then  figure  to  ourselves 
Madame  de  Stael,  in  the  period  of 
early  youth,  advancing  with  that 
confidence  in  life,  that  promised 


EDUCATION,   ike.   OF   MADAME    UR   ST  A  ML. 


117 


her  nothing  but  happiness ;  too  be- 
nevolent  to  suppose  the  existence 
of  hatred,  too  fond  of  talents  in 
others  to  have  any  suspicion  of  en- 
vy. She  praised  genius,  enthu- 
siasm, inspiration,  and  was  herself 
a  proof  of  their  power.  The  love 
of  glory,  that  of  liberty,  the  natu- 
ral beauty  of  virtue,  the  choice  of 
tender  sentiments,  by  turns  fur- 
nished subjects  for  her  eloquence. 
Yet,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that 
her  head  was  always  romantic:  she 
held  the  reins  of  her  imagination, 
without  suffering  its  fire  to  run 
away  with  it.  Accordingly,  in  a 
country  where  raillery  is  so  much 
to  be  dreaded,  ridicule  found  it 
difficult  to  reach  her.  She  rose 
above  the  region  in  which  it  dis- 
plays itself. 

It  is  true,  before  she  had  yet  es- 
tablished her  place  in  society,  at- 
tempts were  made  to  mislead  the 
public  opinion  of  her.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  detect  her  at  fault.  It 
was  told,  that  on  such  an  occasion 
she  had  infringed  some  established 
custom,  offended  against  etiquette, 
or  disturbed  the  gravity  of  an  oc- 
currence. Accordingiv,  an  awk- 
ward courtesy;  a  gown-trimming  a 
little  deranged  when  she  was  pre- 
sented at  court;  her  bonnet  left 
behind  in  her  carriage  one  day 
when  she  went  to  Madame  de  Po- 
lignac's,  were  subjects  of  amuse- 
ment for  all  Paris.  But  she  herself 
caught  up  these  anecdotes,  and  re- 
lated them  with  infinite  grace.  Xo 
malevolence  could  stand  against 
her  goodness;  and  she  had  always 
a  singular  tact  in  seizing  the  an- 
swer to  be  made  to  blame  not  ex- 
pressed. When  she  appeared  most 
deeply  engaged  in  conversation, 
she  distinguished  her  adversaries  ii 


at  a  glance,  disconcerted  them,  cap- 
tivated them,  or  demolished  them 
with  a  side  wind.  She  never  o-rew 
serious,  never  was  irritated;  and 
if  the  dispute  threatened  to  be- 
come grave,  she  at  once  had  re- 
course to  jocularity,  and  a  happy 
turn  delighted  every  body.  In  fine, 
an  attempt  to  disconcert  her  would 
have  gained  no  applause.  The 
whole  audience  was  in  her  favour; 
she  interested  while  she  amused; 
and  whoever  had  defeated  her, 
could  not  hope  to  supply  her  place. 

A  man  of  letters,  one  of  her 
friends,  has  thus  delineated  her  in 
an  unpublished  portrait,  from  which 
I  will  give  a  few  extracts.  Having 
seen  little  of  her  myself  during 
her  early  youth,  I  will  shew  the 
effect  she  produced  in  society.  The 
piece  assumes  the  character  of  a 
translation  from  a  Greek  poet. 

"  Zulima  is  but  twenty  years  old, 
yet  she  is  the  most  celebrated  of 
the  priestesses  of  Apollo.  She  is 
the  favourite  of  the  deitv,-  her  in- 
cense is  the  most  agreeable  to  him, 
of  her  hymns  he  is  most  fond.  Her 
voice  calls  him  down  from  heaven, 
when  she  pleases,  to  adorn  his  tem- 
ple, and  to  mingle  with  mortals. 

'•  From  the  midst  of  these  sa- 
cred virgins  (the  choir  of  priest- 
esses), on  a  sudden  advances  one, 
whose  remembrance  will  never  be 
effaced  from  my  heart.  Her  large 
black  eyes  sparkle  with  genius; 
her  hair,  of  the  colour  of  ebony, 
falls  in  waving  ringlets  down  her 
shoulders;  her  features  are  rather 
strongly  marked  than  delicate,  and 
appear  to  announce  something  be- 
yond the  common  destiny  of  her 
sex.  Such  should  we  paint  the 
Muse  of  poetry,  a  Clio,  or  a  Mel- 
pomene.     '  There   she   is!    there 


na 


THE    CHARACTER    OF   HAMLET. 


she  is!'  resounded  on  all  sides,  as 
she  appeared;  and  not  another 
breath  was  heard. 

"  I  had  formerly  seen  the  P3?- 
thoness  of  Delphi,  I  had  seen  the 
Curaean  Sibyl:  they  were  frantic; 
their  motions  were  convulsive;  they 
appeared  less  hlled  with  the  pre- 
sence of  a  god,  than  devoted  to 
the  Furies.     The  young  priestess 

was  animated  without  bein»;  alter- 
ed 

ed,  and  inspired  without  intoxica- 
tion. Her  charm  was  free;  and 
whatever  she  had  of  supernatural 
appeared  her  own. 

"  She  began  to  sing  the  praises 
of  Apollo,  accompanying  her  voice 
with  the  sounds  of  a  lyre  of  ivory 
and  gold.  Neither  the  words  nor 
the  music  were  prepared.  By  the 
celestial  fire  of  composition  that 
exalted  her  countenance,  by  the 
profound  and  serious  attention  of 
the  people,  it  was  evident,  that  her 
imagination  created  them  both; 
and  our  ears,  at  once  ravished  and  i 
surprised,  knew  not  which  to  ad-  j 
mire  most,  the  facility  or  excel- 
lence of  the  production. 

"  Soon  after,  she  laid  down  her 
lyre,  and  discoursed  to  the  assem- 
bly on  the  grand  truths  of  nature, 
the   immortality  of  the   soul,  the 


love  of  liberty,  the  charm  and  dan- 
ger of  the  passions 

"  On  listening  to  her  merely, 
you  would  say,  that  several  per- 
sons, several  minds,  several  cour- 
ses of  experience,  were  embodied 
in  one:  on  contemplating  heryoutb, 
you  would  ask,  how  she  could  have 
contrived  to  exist  before  she  was 
born,  and  have  a  precognition  of 
life 

"  I  listen  to  her,  I  behold  her 
with  transport,  I  discover  in  her 
features  charms  superior  to  beauty. 
V\  hat  a  variety  of  expression  in 
her  countenance!  What  gradations 
in  the  tone  of  her  voice!  What  a 
perfect  unison  between  her  ideas 
and  words!  She  speaks,  and,  if 
her  words  do  not  reach  my  ears, 
their  cadence,  her  gestures,  her 
looks,  are  sufficient  to  enable  me 
to  comprehend  them.  She  is  si- 
lent for  a  moment;  her  last  words 
resound  in  my  heart,  and  I  read 
in  her  eyes  what  she  has  not  yet 
said.  She  is  silent  altogether;  the 
temple  rings  with  applause,  her 
head  modestly  inclines,  her  long 
eyelashes  descend  on  her  eyes  of 
fire,  and  the  sun  remains  covered 
for  us!" 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  HAMLET. 
(From  Hazlitt's  Characters  of  Shakspearc's  Plays.) 


This  is  that  Hamlet  the  Dane, 
whom  we  read  of  in  our  youth, 
and  whom  we  seem  almost  to  re- 
member in  our  after-years  ;  he  who 
made  that  famous  soliloquy  on  life, 
who  gave  the  advice  to  the  play- 
ers, who  thought  "  this  goodly 
frame,  the  earth,  a  sterile  promon- 
tory, and  this  brave  o'erhanging 
firmament,  the    air,  this    majesti- 


cal  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  a 
foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of 
vapours;"  whom"  man  delighted 
not,  nor  woman  neither;"  he  wlro 
talked  with  the  grave-diggers,  and 
moralized  on  Yorick's  skull ;  the 
school-fellow  of  Rosencraus  and 
Guildenstern  at  Wittenberg ;  the 
friend  of  Horatio;  the  lover  of 
Ophelia ;  he  that  was  mad  and  sent 


TH1.    <  HAKACTKN    OF    HA.MI.!   I . 


119 


to  England;  the  slow  avenger  of 
his  father's  death;  who  lived  at 
the  court  of  Horwendillus  five 
hundred  years  before  we  were  born, 
but  all  whose  thoughts  we  seem  to 
know  as  well  as  we  do  our  own, 
because  we  have  read  them  in 
i>hakspeare. 

Hamlet  is  a  name;  his  speeches 
and  sayings  but  the  idle  coinage  of 
the  poet's  brain.  What  then,  are 
they  not  real  ?  They  are  as  real  as 


the  evils  of  life  by  a  mock  repre- 
sentation of  them — this  is  the  true 
Hamlet. 

We  have  been  so  used  to  this 
tragedy,  that  we  hardly  know  how 
to  criticise  it  any  more  than  we 
should  know  how  to  describe  our 
own  faces.  But  we  must  make 
such  observations  as  we  can.  It  is 
the  one  of  Shakspeare's  plays 
that  we  think  of  oftenest,  because 
it  abounds  most  in  striking  reflec- 


our own  thoughts.     Their  realityis  !  tions  on   human  life,   and  because 


in  the  reader's  mind.  It  is  zee  who 
are  Hamlet.  This  plav  has  a  pro-  | 
phetic  truth,  which  is  above  that  of  I 
history.  Whoever  has  become  | 
thoughtful  and  melancholy  through 
his  own  mishaps  or  those  of  others; 
whoever  has  borne  about  with  him 
the  clouded  brow  of  reflection, 
and  thought  himself  "  too  much 
i'  th'  sun  ;"  whoever  has  seen  the 
golden  lamp  of  day  dimmed  by 
envious  mists  rising  in  his  own 
breast, and  could  find  in  the  world 
before  him  only  a  dull  blank  with 
nothing  left  remarkable  in  it;  who- 
ever has  known  "  the  pangs  of  de- 
spised love,  the  insolence  of  of- 
fice, or  the  spurns  which  patient 
merit  of  the  unworthy  takes;"  he 


the  distresses  of  Hamlet  are  trans- 
ferred, by  the  turn  of  his  mind,  to 
the  general  account  of  humanity. 
Whatever  happens  to  him,  we  ap- 
ply to  ourselves,  because  he  ap- 
plies it  so  himself  as  a  means  of 
general  reasoning.  He  is  a  great 
moralizer;  and  what  makes  him 
worth  attending  to  is,  that  he  mo- 
ralizes on  his  own  feelings  and  ex- 
perience.  He  is  not  a  common- 
place pedant.  If  Lear  shews  the 
greatest  depth  of  passion,  Hamlet 
is  the  most  remarkable  for  the  in- 
genuity, originality, and  unstudied 
developement  of  character.  Khak- 
speare  had  more  magnanimity  than 
any  other  poet,  and  he  has  shewn 
more  of  it  in  this  play  than  in  an}' 


who  has  felt  his  mind  sink  within  ;  other.     There  is   no    attempt    to 
him,  and  sadness  cling  to  his  heart  |[  force  an  interest:  every  thing  is 


like  a  malady,  who  has  had  his 
hopes  blighted,  and  his  youth  stag- 
gered by  the  apparitions  of  strange 
things  ;  who  cannot  be  well  at  ease, 


left  for  time  and  circumstances  to 
unfold.  The  attention  is  excited 
without  effort;  the  incidents  suc- 
ceed   each    other    as   matters    of 


while  lie  sees  evil  hovering  near  j  course;  the  characters  think  and 
him  like  a  spectre;  whose  powers  j!  speak  and  act  just  as  they  might 
of  action  have  been  eaten  up  by  jj  do,  if  left  entirely  to  themselves, 
thought;  he  to  whom  the  universe  •;  There  is  no  set  purpose,  no  strain- 
seemsinfinite,andhimselfnothing;  |!  ing  at  a  point.  The  observations 
whose  bitterness  of  soul  makes  him  |i  are  suggested  by  the  oassing  scene 
careless  of  consequences,  and  who  j|  — the  gusts  of  passions  come  and 
goes  to  a  play  as  his  best  resource  !:  go  like  sounds  of  music  borne  on 
to  shove  off,  to  a  second  remove,  '  the  wind.  The  whole  play  is  t.n 
V<,i.  ,Y.  No.  LI  I.  R 


no 


THE    CHARACTER    OF   HAMLET. 


exact  transcript  of  what  might  be 
supposed  to  have  taken  place  at 
the  court  of  Denmark,  at  the  re- 
mote period  of  time  fixed  upon, 
before  the  modern  refinements  in 
morals  and  manners  were  heard  of. 
It  would  have  been  interesting 
enough  to  have  been  admitted  as 
a  by-stander  in  such  a  scene,  at 
such  a  time,  to  have  heard  and 
seen  something  of  what  was  going 
on.  But  here  we  are  more  than 
spectators.  We  have  not  only 
"  the  outward  pageants  and  the 
signs  of  grief,"  but  "  we  have 
that  within  which  passes  show." 
We  read  the  thoughts  of  the  heart, 
we  catch  the  passions  living  as  they 
rise.  Other  dramatic  writers  give 
us  very  fine  versions  and  paraphra- 
ses of  nature ;  but  Shakspeare,  to- 
gether with  his  own  comments, 
gives  us  the  original  text,  that  we 
may  judge  for  ourselves.  This  is 
a  very  great  advantage. 

The  character  of  Hamlet  is  it- 
self a  pure  effusion  of  genius.  It 
is  not  a  character  marked  by 
strength  of  will  or  even  of  passion, 
hut  by  refinement  of  thought  and 
sentiment.  Hamlet  is  as  little  of 
the  hero  as  a  man  can  well  be  ;  but 
he  is  a  young  and  princely  novice, 
full  of  high  enthusiasm  and  quick 
sensibility — the  sport  of  circum- 
stances, questioning  with  Fortune, 
and  refining  on  his  own  feelings, 
and  forced  from  the  natural  bias  of 
his  disposition  by  the  strangeness 
of  his  situation.  He  seems  inca- 
pable of  deliberate  action,  and  is 
only  hurried  into  extremities  on 
the  spur  of  the  occasion,  when  he 
has  no  time  to  reflect,  as  in  the 
scene  where  he  kills  Polouius;  and 
again,  where  he  alters  the  letters 
vliicli  Rosencraus  and  Guilden- 
stcrn  are  taking  with  them  to  Edjt- 


land,  purporting  his  death.  At 
other  times,  when  he  is  most  bound 
to  act,  he  remains  puzzled,  un- 
decided, and  sceptical,  dallies  with 
his  purposes,  till  the  occasion  is 
lost,  and  always  finds  some  pre- 
tence to  relapse  into  indolence  and 
thoughtfulness  again.  For  this 
reason  he  refuses  to  kill  the  king 
when  he  is  at  his  prayers,  and  by 
a  refinement  in  malice,  which  is 
in  truth  only  an  excuse  for  his  own 
want  of  resolution,  defers  his  re- 
venge to  some  more  fatal  opportu- 
nity, when  he  shall  be  engaged  in 
some  act  "  that  has  no  relish  of 
salvation  in  it." 

He  is  the  prince  of  philosophi- 
cal speculators,  and  because  he 
cannot  have  his  revenge  perfect, 
according  to  the  most  refined  idea 
his  wish  can  form,  he  misses  it  al- 
together. So  he  scruples  to  trust 
the  suggestions  of  the  ghost,  con- 
trives the  scene  of  the  play  to  have 
surer  proof  of  his  uncle's  guilt, 
and  then  rests  satisfied  with  this 
confirmation  of  his  suspicions,  and 
the  success  of  his  experiment,  in- 
stead of  acting  upon  it.  Yet  he  is 
sensible  of  his  own  weakness,  tax- 
es himself  with  it,  and  tries  to  rea- 
son himself  out  of  it. 

Still  he  does  nothing ;  and  this 
very  speculation  on  his  own  infir- 
mity only  affords  him  another  oc- 
casion for  indulging  it.  It  is  not 
for  any  want  of  attachment  to  his 
father,  or  abhorrence  of  his  murder, 
that  Hamlet  is  thus  dilatory,  but  it 
is  more  to  his  taste  to  indulge  his 
imagination  in  reflecting  upon  the 
enormity  of  the  crime,  and  refining 
on  his  schemes  of  vengeance,  than 
to  put  them  into  immediate  prac- 
tice. His  ruling  passion  is  to  think, 
not  to  act ;  and  any  vague  pretence 
11  that  Hatters  this  propensity  instant- 


THE    CHARACTM'.    OF    HAMLJiT, 


\2\ 


\y  diverts  him  from  his  previous 
purposes. 

The    moral    perfection    of  this 
character  has  been  called  in  ques- 
tion, we  think,  by  those  who  did 
not  understand  it.     It  is  more  in- 
teresting than  according  to  rules; 
amiable,  though  not  faultless.   The 
ethical  delineations  of  "  that  no- 
ble and  liberal  casuist"  (as  Shak- 
speare  has  been  well  called)  do  not 
exhibit  the  drab-coloured  quaker- 
ism  of  morality.     His  plays  are  not 
copied  either  from  "  The   Whole 
Duty   of   Man,"  or  from  "    The 
Academy   of  Compliments."    We 
confess,  we  are  a  little  shocked  at 
the  want  of  refinement   in    those 
who  are  shocked  at  the   want  of 
refinement  in  Hamlet.     The  want 
of  punctilious  exactness  in  liis  be- 
haviour either  partakes  of  the  "  li- 
cence of  the  time,"  or  else  belongs 
to  the  very  excess  of  intellectual 
refinement  in  the  character,  which 
makes  the  common  rules  of  life,  as 
well  as  his  own  purposes,  sit  loose 
upon  him.     He  may  be  said  to  be 
amenable  only  to  the  tribunal  of 
his  own  thoughts,  and  is  too  much 
taken  up  with  the  airy  world  of 
contemplation,  to  lay  as  much  stress 
as  he  ought  on  the  practical  con- 
sequences of  things.     His  habitual 
principles  of  action  are  unhinged 
and  out  of  joint  with  the  time.    His 
conduct  to  Ophelia  is  quite  natural 
in  his  circumstances.     It  is  that  of 
assumed  seventy  only.    It  is  the  ef- 
fect of  disappointed  hope,  of  bitter 
regrets,   of   affections  suspended, 
not  obliterated,  by  the  distractions 
ofthescenearoundhim.  Amidst  the 
natural  and  preternatural  horrors  of 
his  situation,  he  might  be  excused  in 
delicacy  from  carrying  on  a  regu- 
lar courtship.    When  "  his  father's 


spirit  was  in  arms,"  it  was  not  a 
time  for  the  son  to  make  love  in. 
He  could  neither  marry  Ophelia, 
nor  wound  her  mind  by  explaining 
the  cause  of  his  alienation,  which 
he  durst  hardly  trust  himself  to 
think  of.  It  would  have  taken  him 
years  to  have  come  to  a  direct  ex- 
planation on  the  point.  In  the 
harassed  state  of  his  mind,  he  could 
not  have  done  otherwise  than  he 
did.  His  conduct  does  not  con- 
tradict what  he  says  when  he  sees 
her  funeral : 

"   I  loved  Ophelia:  forty  thousand  bro- 
thers 
Could  not  with  all  their  quantity  of  love 
Make  up  my  sum." 

Nothing  can  be  more  affecting 
or  beautiful  than  the  queen's  apos- 
trophe to  Ophelia  on  throwing 
flowers  into  the  grave  : 

".  Sweets  to  the  sweet,  farewell  ! 


I  hop'd  thou  should'st  have  been  my  Ham- 
let's wife : 

I  thought  thy  bride-bed  to  have  deck'd, 
sweet  maid, 

And  not  have  strew'd  thy  grave." 

Shakspeare  was  thoroughly  a 
master  of  the  mixed  motives  of  hu- 
man character,  and  he  here  shews 
us  the  queen,  who  was  so  criminal 
in  some  respects,  not  without  sen- 
sibility and  affections  in  other  re- 
lations of  life.  Ophelia  is  a  cha- 
racter almost  too  exquisitely  touch- 
ing to  be  dwelt  upon.  Oh,  rose  of 
May'-  oh,  flower  too  soon  faded! 
her  love,  her  madness,  her  death, 
are  described  with  the  truest  touch- 
es of  tenderness  and  pathos.  It  is 
a  character  which  nobody  but 
Shakspeare  could  have  drawn  in 
the  way  that  he  has  done,  and  to 
the  conception  of  which  there  is 
not  even  the  smallest  approach, 
except  in  some  of  the  old  roman- 
tic ballads.  Her  brother,  Laertes, 
R  2 


122 


INTELLIGENT,!!,  LlTIillAUY,  .SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


is  a  character  we  do   not  like  so  |  ed.    Mr.  Kemble  unavoidabl}- fails 
well  :  he  is  too  hot  and  choleric,  jj  in   this  character   from   a  want  of 
and  somewhat  rodomontade.     Po-     ease  and  variety.     The  character 
lonius  is  a  perfect  character  in  its     of  Hamlet  is  made  up  of  undula 
kind  ;  nor  is  there  an}-  foundation 


for  the  objections  which  have  been 
made  to  the  consistency  of  this 
part.  It  is  said  that  he  acts  very 
foolishly,  and  talks  very  sensibly. 


ting  lines;  it  has  the  yielding  flex- 
ibility of"  a  wave  o'  th'  sea."  Mr. 
Kemble  plays  it  like  a  man  in  ar- 
mour, with  a  determined  invetera- 
cy of  purpose,  in  one  undeviating 


There  is  no  inconsistency  in  that.  !  straight  line,  which  is  as  remote 
Again,  that  he  talks  wisely  at  one  ,  from  the  natural  grace  and  refined 


time,  and  foolishly  at  another  ;  that 
his  advice  to  Laertes  is  very  sen- 
sible, and  his  advice  to  the  king 
and  queen  on  the  subject  of  Ham- 
let's madness  very  ridiculous.  But 
he  gives  the  one  as  a  father,  and  is 
sincere  in  it ;  he  gives  the  other  as 
a  mere  courtier,  a  busybody,  and 
is  accordingly  officious,  garrulous, 
and  impertinent.  In  short,  Shak- 
speare  has  been  accused  of  incon- 
sistency in  this  and  other  charac- 
ters, only  because  he  has  kept  up 
the  distinction  which  there  is  in 
nature,  between  the  understand- 
ings and  the  moral  habits  of  men, 
between  the  absurdity  of  their 
ideas  and  the  absurdity  of  their 
motives.  Polonius  is  not  a  fool, 
but  he  makes  himself  so.  His  fol- 
ly, whether  in  his  actions  or  speech- 
es, comes  under  the  head  of  im- 
propriety of  intention. 

We  do  not  like  to  see  our  au- 
thor's plays  acted,  and  least  of  all 
Hamlet.     There   is   no   play   that 


susceptibility  of  the  character,  as 
the  sharp  angles  and  abrupt  starts 
which   Mr.  Kean    introduces   into 
the  part.     Mr.  Kean's  Hamlet  is  as 
much  too  splenetic  and  rash,  as  Mr. 
Kemble's    is   too   deliberate    and 
formal.     His  manner  is  too  strong 
and  pointed.     He  throws  a  severi- 
ty, approaching  to  virulence,  into 
j  the  common  observations  and   an- 
I  swers.     There  is  nothing  of  this  in 
;  Hamlet.     He  is,  as  it  were,  wrap- 
'■  ped  up  in  his  reflections,  and  onl}T 
//links  aloud.     There  should  there- 
fore be  no  attempt  to  impress  what 
he  says  upon  others   by  a  studied 
exaggeration  of  emphasis  or  man- 
ner ;    no    talking    at    his    hearers. 
There  should  be  as   much  of  the 
I  gentleman  and  scholar  as  possible 
infused  into  the  part,  and  as  little 
!  of  the  actor.     A  pensive  air  of  sad- 
1  ness  should  sit  reluctantly  upon  his 
brow,  but  no  appearance  of  fixed 
and   sullen   gloom.     He  is  full  of 
weakness    and     melancholy,     but 


suffers  so  much  in  being  transfer-  there  is  no  harshness  in  his  nature, 
red  to  the  stage.  Hamlet  himself  He  is  the  most  amiable  of  misan- 
sc-ems  hardly  capable  of  being  act-  |  thropes. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


R.  AcKeumann  has  in  the  press,  j 

a  Series  of  Tzcehe  F'icrcs  of  the  dif-  ' 

ferent Sdthmenlsin ISczc  South  Wales,  ■, 


engraved  by  a  Convict,  from  draw- 
ings by  Captain  Wallis,  with  de- 
scriptive letter-press,  in  folio.  This 


INTELLIGENCE,    LITKKARV,  SCIENTIFIC,   &C. 


123 


work,  as  the  first  specimen  of  the 
fine  arts  produced  in  that  youthful 
but  rapidly  improving  colony,  can- 
not fail  to  excite  the  peculiar  in- 
terest both  of  the  professional  man 
and  the  amateur. 

The  author  of  "  Doctor  Syntax 
in  Search  of  the  Picturesque"  is 
preparing  another  work,  which  will 
shortly  appear,  in  eight  monthly 
parts,  under  the  title  of  Doctor 
Syntax  in  Search  of  a  Wife;  with 
twenty -four  designs  by  Thomas 
Rowlandson,  Esq.  Each  part  to  con- 
tain three  coloured  engravings,  and 
thirty-two  pages  of  poetical  letter- 
press. 

Mr.  Accum  has  in  the  press,  a 
Treatise  on  Domestic  Chemistry,  con- 
taining concise  instructions  for 
preparing  good  and  wholesome 
home-made  bread,  beer,  wine,  vi- 
negar, pickles,  conserves,  and  vari- 
ous other  articles  employed  in  do- 
mestic economy;  in  four  parts. 
Part  I. will  be  published  next  month. 

Ready  for  publication,  Collec- 
tions relative  to  Claims  at  the  Coro- 
nation of  several  Kings  of  England, 
beginning  with  King  Richard  II.; 
being  curious  and  interesting  do- 
entente,  derived  from  authentic 
sources.  This  work  may  be  consi- 
dered as  a  valuable  appendage  to 
Taylor's  "  Glory  of  Regality,"  or 
Thomson's  "  Coronations  of  Eng- 
land." 

In  the  press,  and  shortly  will  be 
published,  Tabella  Cibaria,  the  Bill 
of  Fare,  a  Latin  poem  ;  with  notes, 
observations,  and  directions  relat- 
ing to  the  pleasures  of  gastronomy, 
and  the  mysterious  art  of  cookery. 

Speedily  will  be  published,  in 
onevol.Svo.  Dcvonia,  a  poem  in  five 
cantos;  descriptive  of  the  most 
interesting   scenery,   natural    and 


artificial,  in  the  county  of  Devon  ; 
interspersed  with  historical  anec- 
dotes and  legendary  tales;  by  the 
Rev.  G.  Woodley,  of  St.  Mary's, 
Scilly. 

Part  II.  of  Select  Biography  of 
eminent  Men;  containing  the  life  of 
Bernard  Gilpin,  with  a  portrait, 
and  that  of  Bishop  Latimer,  will  be 
ready  in  the  course  of  the  month. 

The  Cottager's  Manual  for  the 
Management  of  his  Bees,  for  every 
month  in  the  year,  both  on  the 
suffocating  and  depriving  system; 
by  Robert  Huish,  author  of  the 
"  Treatise  on  the  Management  of 
Bees,"  secretary  to  the  Apiarian 
Society,  &c. 

A  Letter  to  the  Right  Hon.  the 
Earl  of  Liverpool,  First  Lord  of 
the  Treasury,  on  the  present  dis- 
tressed State  of  Agriculture,  and 
its  Influence  on  the  Manufactures, 
Trade,  and  Commerce  of  the  Uni- 
ted Kingdom,  will  appear  in  a  few 
days. 

Amyntas,  a  Tale  of  the  Woods, 
from  the  Italian  of  Torquato  Tasso, 
by  Leigh  Hunt,  is  in  the  press. 

A  Catalogue  of  Old  Books  in  the 
Ancient  and  Modern  Languages, 
and  various  Classes  of  Literature, 
for  the  year  1820;  comprising  an 
extensive  collection  of  rare  and 
useful  articles,  collected  by  Long- 
man and  Co.  will  be  published  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  month. 

Shortly  will  be  published  part  II. 
of  an  engraved  Series  of  Pictu- 
resque f  iezes  in  Paris  and  its  Envi- 
rons; consisting  of  Views  on  the 
Seine,  Public  Buildings,  Charac- 
teristic Scenery,  &x.  &c.  from  ori- 
ginal drawings  by  Mr.  Frederick 
Nash.  The  work  will  be  printed 
on  royal  4to.  and  consist  of  fifty 
engraved  views,  to  be  executed  in 


124 


POETRY. 


the  first  style  of  art.  Each  part  will 
consist  of  five  prints,  with  descrip- 
tive letter  -  press,  in  English  or 
French,  at.  the  option  of  the  pur- 
chasers. 

The  admirers  of  the  science  of 
botany  have  long  lamented  the 
want  of  Gal  pine's  Synoptical  Com- 
pend  of  British  Plants;  a  new  edi- 
tion is  ready  for  publication,  be- 
ing much  enlarged  and  corrected 
by  a  distinguished  member  of  the 


Linnean  Society.  The  chief  ad- 
dition is  the  introduction  of  the 
class  Cryptogamia.  This  beauti- 
ful pocket  volume  is  arranged  af- 
ter the  Linnean  system,  and  con- 
tains the  essential  characters  of  the 
genera,  the  specific  characters, 
English  names,  places  of  growth, 
soil  and  situation,  colour  of  the 
flowers,  times  of  flowering,  dura- 
tion, and  references  to  figures,  at 
one  view,  in  parallel  columns. 


Jtoetrp. 


LAUNCESTON  CASTLE: 

From  "  Cornubia:"  a  poem,  in  five  cantos; 
descriptive  of  the  most  interesting  Scenery, 
'.    natural   and   artificial,  in    the   county    of 
'     Cornwall:     interspersed    with     Historical 
Anecdotes,  and  Legendary  Tales.     By  the 
Rev.  G.  Woodley. 
Nich  where  the  holy  edifice*  appears, 
,A  lofty  hill,  abrupt,  its  bosom  rears  ; 
And,  by  the  terrors  of  its  awful  frown, 
Commands,  while  it  defends,  the  vassal  town. 
On  its  tall  brow,  with  wide-extending  sweep, 
Majestic,  though  in  ruins,  low'rs  the  keep 
,Of  that  vast  fortress,  which,  in  days  of  yore, 
What  time  the   Romans   sought  Cornubia's 

shore, 
The  rugged  Britons  rear'd,  with  patriot  aim 
To  check  their   inroads,  and  to  blot  their 

fame. 
Tow'r  within  tow'r  in  savage  might  ascends, 
And  o'er  the  mound  their  gloomy  shade  ex- 
tends ; 
Whilst,  at  its  base,  in  isolated  forms 
(Gnaw'd  by  the  tooth  of  time,  or  cleft  by 

storms), 
Huge   mould'ring    walls,    on    crazy   arches 
bas'd, 
.  Nod  their  grey  tops,  and  threat  th'  adjacent 
waste. 
The  pond'rous  mass,  now  sinking  to  decay, 
Still  shews  such  great  and  terrible  display 
Of  British  perseverance,  leagued  with  toil, 
And  firm  resolve  to  guard  the  natal  soil, 
That  well  might  Rome's  proud  legions  stand 

aghast 
To  view  its  strong  defence,  and  circuit  vast: 
And  long  shall  memory,  with  fond  delight, 
Dwell  on  the  traces  of  its  former  might; 
•  Launceston  church. 


While  admiration,  with  untiring  eye, 
Pores  o'-er  each  vestige  that  lies  mould'ring 

by; 
And  genius,  noting  with  poetic  ken 
The  boasts  of  distant  days,  and  lofty  men, 
Recall    the  time,   when    Cornwall's  native 

lords, 
In  feudal  pomp,  here  spread  their  festive 

boards; 
And  charm'd  each  pause  of  war,  these  walls 

among, 
With  wassail  revelry,  and  bardic  song! 


SONNET, 

Written  after  attending  the  Funeral  of  * 
Friend. 

By  J.  M.  L. 
One  more  is  mingled  with  the  silent  dead  ! 
One  spirit  more  has  sought  the  realms  of 
bliss  ! 
I   pause  at  friendship's  grave  with  solemn 
dread, 
And  something  whispers,   Thou  must  come 
to  this! 
Momentous   truth   inspires    the   thought   of 
fear — 
Soon  I  may  follow  to  that  realm  of  peace, 
Where  joy  fills  all  the  everlasting  year, 
Where  worldly  bliss  and  worldly  woe  shall 
cease ! 
No  warning  may  attend  the  awful  hour 
When  death  spreads  round  his  dark  un- 
earthly gloom  : 
Prepared,  or  unprepared,    the  grisly  pow'r 

Alike  consigns  his  victim  to  the  tomb. 
Grant  then,  great  God,  my  soul  may  ever  be 
Ready  to  quit  this  form,  and  fly  to  thee !     i 


L.  Harrison.   Printer,  '.i'-i,  Strand. 


% 


THE 


Beposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,   &£. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


September  1,  1820. 


IS0  LVII, 


embellishments. 

A  Bath         ........ 

View  of  Sesto      .....  . 

Ladies'  Cottage  Dress        . 

Ball  Dkess       ...... 


Window-Drapery  ...... 

Patterns  of  Black  and  White  Borders  for  Inlaid  Work. 


PAGK 

.  125 

.  158 

.  180 

.  ib. 

.  ISd 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Ornamental  Gardening.  —  A 


Hin's   on 

Bath 

MISCELLANIES. 

An  F.ssay  on  Dulness 

Account  of  the  Vatican  Librar}-    .     .     . 

Spanish  Literature 

Correspondence  of  the  Adviser      .     .     . 

Parisian  Sketches,  No.  XI 

Augustus  and  Cecilia 

Foote's  Account  of  his  Comedy  "  The 
Patron" 

Human  Nature  is  not  so  bad  after  all     . 

On  Surnames 

The  Generous  Fyiends,  from  the  Spanish  J 52 

Answer  to  <:Semproiiia  ouNfeed  re-Work'*  155 

Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon. — 
Yi?w  of  $69(0 

Dr.  Syntax,  the  last  Number  of  his  Se- 
cond Tour       

The   Female  Tattler.— No.  LVII.  .     .     . 

The  Origin  of  Wakes  and  Fairs     .     .     . 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

DaNSEleTt^  Palinodia  a  Nice    .... 
K/.osc's  favourite  Air, <{  My  native  land, 
good  night"    .........     ib 


125 

126 
129 
132 
134 
137 
142 

145 
147 
151 


153 

ib. 
161 
165 

169 


Davy's  "  Ch  !  farewell,  dearest  fair-one" 
O'Mfatja's  Venetian  Boat-Song 
Bhrrowes's  Series  of  Caledonian  .Airs 
Grossc's  Coronation  u'altz        .... 

THE  SELECTOR. 

The  early  Life  of  a  Poet  (from  Cole- 
ridge's «  Biographia  Literaria")   .     . 

Arctic  Zoology  (from  Scoresey's  "Arctic 
Regions")  

EASE  IONS. 

London    Fas!. ions.  —  Ladies'   Cottage 
Dress  •' 

Ladies'  Ball  Tress 

General   Obs'.Tiatiuns  on    Fashion    and 
H 

French  Female  Fashions 

Fashionabh  Furniture. — Window-Dra- 
pery    

INTELLIGENCF,  LITERARY 

AND  SCIENTER      .     .     .     . 

POETRY. 

A  Ballad 


AGE 

k;9 

170 
ib. 
ib. 


ib. 
175 


1*0 
ib. 

1*1 

182 
185 


1S6 

ib. 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Stran  d. 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  works  which  they  may  have,  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheeifully  insert 
them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  New  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  new  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

We  have  received  several  articles  in  reply  to  Sempronia,  who,  in  our  last  Num- 
ber, somewhat  paradoxically  objected  to  the  employment  of  young  ladies  with  their 
needle.  Our  object  in  inserting  the  letter  was,  not  to  make  proselytes,  but  to  promote 
controversy;  and  the  effect  has  been  just  what  we  desired.  We  shall  give  another 
reply  next  month,  and  shall  then  leave  Sempronia  to  defend  herself. 

We  request  the  continuance  of  the  favours  of  the  author  of  Parisian  Sketches 
No.  XII.  has  not  yet  come  to  hand. 

We  acknowledge  our  obligations  to  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Dulness.  His 
style  is  agreeable,  but  we  have  been  obliged  to  make  a  few  alterations  in  his  phraseology. 

The  Beau  of  1720  compared  with  the  Beau  of  1820,  is  rather  too  stale  a  subject 
for  our  pages,  though  it  is  pleasantly  treated.  We  shall  be  glad,  however,  to  see  the 
same  parallel  drawn  with  regard  to  the  other  sex :  we  do  not  recollect  that  such  an 
attempt  has  yet  been  made. 

S.  R.  R.  came  too  late  for  insertion  this  month. 

Q,.  in  the  Corner  is  somewhat  too  laborious  about  tr/Jles,  but  we  shall  endeavour 
to  find  a  place  for  him. 

On  Playing-Cards,  an  essay,  if  possible  in  our  next. 


Persons  who  reside  abroad,  and  who  wish  to  he  supplied  with  this  Work  every  Month  as 
published,  may  have  it  sent  to  them,  free  of  Postage,  to  New-York,  Halifax,  Quebec,  and 
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subscribing,  for  either  o,  G,  9,  or  12  months. 


THE 


&ep0ttorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures ,  fyc. 

THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


September  1,  1820. 


N°  LVII. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  p.  63.) 
PLATE     13. — A     BATH. 


Among  the  decorative  buildings 
employed  for  the  embellishment 
of  gardens,  the  bath  should  not  be 
neglected,  for  its  important  use- 
fulness demands  a  place  wherever 
pure  water  can  be  obtained;  and 
the  agreeableness  of  bathing,  with- 
out its  salubrity,  might  well  pro- 
cure to  the  bath  a  higher  degree 
of  patronage  than,  it  has  yet  re- 
ceived in  this  and  its  neigbouring 
country  :  but  during  many  years, 
the  difficulties  of  dress,  conse- 
quent on  the  fashion  of  wearing 
powder  in  the  hair,  were  inimical 
to  its  use  :  this  impediment  being 
removed,  it  is  probable  that  baths 
will  be  employed  by  us  as  common 
and  frequent  sources  of  innocent 

VolK.  No.  LVII. 


pleasure,  as  well  as  for  medical  re- 
lief. 

Bathing  among  the  Romans  was 
held  in  very  high  estimation,  so 
much  indeed,  that  it  is  said  Rome 
itself  at  one  time  contained  eight 
hundred  and  fifty-six  public  baths; 
and  the  emperors  endeavoured  to 
conciliate  the  people  by  the  erec- 
tion of  such  buildings.  Those  of 
Paulus  ^Emilius,  Titus,  and  Dio- 
clesian,  ranked  amongst  the  no- 
blest edifices  of  the  empire. 

The  use  of  the  tepid  bath  is  now 
so  much  prescribed,  and  the  means 
of  imparting  heat  to  water  is  so 
simple  and  perfect  in  its  applica- 
tion, that  the  warm  bath  ought  to 
accompany  the  cold  one. 
S 


m 


MISCELLANIES. 

ON  DULNESS. 


Unspeakably  happy  is  the  wri- 
ter who  is  so  far  penetrated  and  in- 
spired by  his  subject,  that  he  is 
able  to  communicate  his  matter 
feelingly,  and  to  convey  not  only 
his  ideas,  but  his  very  soul  and  af- 
fections, through  the  channel  of 
words  and  sentences.  I  now  me- 
ditate an  essay  upon  dulness,  and 
have  caught  the  lucky  minute;  for 
I  declare,  upon  the  faith  of  an  au- 
thor, that  though  I  have  written 
for  almost  every  magazine  and  pe- 
riodical work  which  has  been  pub- 
lished during  the  last  twenty  years, 
I  never  was  so  dull  in  all  my  life  : 
I  therefore  promise  myself  great 
success  in  the  presentundertaking; 
for  it  stands  to  reason,  that  he  must 
be  the  most  valuable  writer  upon 
the  anti-sublime, 

Whose  own  example  strengthens  all  his  laws, 
And  is  himself  the  said  dull  thing  he  draws. 

"  Dulness,"  according  to  Aristotle, 
"  is  a  soporific  habit,  diffused 
through  the  whole  frame,  and  deter- 
mining the  fingers  to  describe  cer- 
tain figures  and  characters  impreg- 
nated with  its  essence  :  it  is  general- 
ly inherent  in  the  writer,  and  trans- 
ferred from  him  to  the  performance, 
and  so  on  to  the  reader;  for  a  hea- 
vy author  exactly  resembles  the 
torpedo  or  cramp-fish,  which  com- 
municates a  numbness  to  every 
animal  that  approaches  it.  Some- 
times this  quality  arises  from  the 
subject,  and  is  thence  infused  into 
the  writer."  And  heconcludeswith 
saying,  that  "  the  work  will  be 
mostcomplete,when  the  author  and 


his  subject,  acting  reciprocally,re- 
flect  a  mutual  drowsiness,  and  nod 
one  at  the  other."  This  I  have 
found  remarkably  true  whenever  I 
have  had  to  relate  the  story  of  an 
apparition  or  a  murder,  or  the 
speech  of  a  dying  criminal,  when 
every  thing  conspires  so  perfectly 
to  promote  this  calm  attempered 
state,  that  my  thoughts  flow  on, 
without  the  least  impediment  or 
molestation,  in  an  even  methodical 
track  of  dulness.  It  is  absolutely 
necessary  we  should  know,  that 
there  is  a  certain  decorum  and  pro- 
priety to  be  observed  even  in  being 
dull ;  and  that  it  is  much  more 
suitable  to  some  occasions  than  to 
others.  I  cannot  explain  myself 
better  than  by  the  following  in- 
stance. .  As  sure  as  ever  Mr. 

mounts  the  pulpit,  his  audience 
fall  asleep;  yet  nobody  wonders, 
because  it  is  so  natural  both  to  the 
place  and  the  occasion,  and  hap- 
pens according  to  the  common 
course  of  things  :  but  if  the  same 
worthy  gentleman  attempts  a  per- 
formance of  that  kind  which  the 
French  call  spirit uelle,  and  it  has 
exactly  the  same  effect  upon  the 
public  as  his  weekly  labours,  every 
body  will  allow  that  this  is  much 
more  out  of  charaqter  than  if  he 
had  been  preaching  at  the  time. 
Some  kind  of  writings  are  expect- 
ed to  be  more  or  less  heavy  in 
proportion  as  the  mutual  action  of 
the  author  and  his  subject  is  more 
or  less  complete  ;  and  they  are 
frequently  applied  with  success,  to 


ON    DULNI'SS. 


Ml 


encourage  the  approaches  of  the 
drowsy  god  whenever  he  is  a  little 
shy  of  paying  a  visit  to  his  waiting 
suppliants.  Bat  a  heavy  writer, 
who  makes  an  unfit  choice  of  a 
subject  for  the  exercise  of  his  dul- 
ncss,  puts  it  out  of  his  power  to 
do  good  to  the  community  in  the 
only  way  in  which  his  genius  qua- 
lifies him  to  be  serviceable;  for 
nobody  cares  to  purchase  a  ro- 
mance or  a  piece  of  humour  by 
way  of  opiate,  while  so  many  other 
cheap  and  useful  treatises  are  to 
be  had  for  that  purpose.  I  was  al- 
ways happy  enough  to  know  my 
own  talent;  and  though  I  have 
been  often  solicited  to  write  ad- 
ventures, novels,  and  apologies  for 
lives,  I  could  not  in  conscience 
undertake  any  thing  of  that  nature. 
My  ambition  never  rose  beyond 
the  bounds  of  a  magazine  or  a 
twelvepenny  pamphlet ;  and  I  have 
generally  seen  the  fruit  of  my  la- 
bours satisfactory.  However, when 
they  have  not  happened  to  be 
equally  successful,  I  have  the  plea- 
sure of  reflecting,  that  it  was  no 
fault  of  mine.  They  were  always 
calculated  for  the  public  good,  to 
bring  about,  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
abilities,  the  repose  and  quiet  of 
my  fellow-creatures.  I  send  forth 
this,  which  perhaps  may  be  my 
last  present  to  the  public,  hoping 
they  will  accept  it  with  their  usual 
candour,  and  heartily  desirous  that 
it  may  be  of  some  small  service  to 
them  in  the  same  way.  I  have  on- 
ly one  request  to  make,  that  who- 
ever desires  to  reap  the  advantage 
of  it,  will  take  up  this  very  part 
about  eleven  or  twelve  at  night, 
and  if  it  does  not  answer  his  inten- 
tion, I  promise  never  to  write  an- 
other line  while  I  breathe. 


Among  the  principal  causes  of 
dulness  in  works  of  humour  and 
entertainment,  I  reckon  a  great  af- 
fectation of  wit;  and  this  equally, 
whether  the  wit  be  overstrained  or 
misplaced.  Plain  thoughts  pass 
very  well  in  their  natural  dress, and 
neither  greatly  please  nor  disgust 
us;  but  it  is  a  general  and  very 
true  remark,  that  lace  and  embroi- 
dery never  fail  to  setoff  the  clown 
and  illustrate  his  awkwardness.  The 
grand  error  of  such  writers  is,  to 
think  that  every  thing  they  say 
must  shine  ;  and  thus  they  become 
intolerably  dull,  through  a  foolish 
design  of  pleasing  too  much.  I 
never  knew  a  man  in  my  life  who 
was  over-officious  to  oblige,  but 
his  ceremony  was  ten  times  more 
troublesome  than  downright  rude- 
ness. 

I  own  that  I  am  somewhat  sin- 
gular in  my  taste,  but  too  much 
wit  is  naturally  more  offensive  to 
me  than  too  little,  especially  where 
it  is  not  of  the  most  plain  and  in- 
telligent sort,  and  appears  rather 
pressed  into  the  service  than  to 
come  a  perfect  volunteer.  I  will 
give  my  reasons  why  I  think,  of  the 
two  cases,  a  defect  of  this  quality- 
is  so  much  preferable  to  its  excess. 
Though  some  whimsical  philoso- 
phers has  defined  us  risible  ani- 
mals, yet  we  are  so  constituted  in 
this  imperfect  state,  that  we  can- 
not laugh  always;  and  I  will  never 
pardon  the  author  who  appears  to 
have  such  an  unnatural  design, 
which  I  consider  as  nothing  less 
than  an  attempt  against  my  life, 
seeing  this  exercise  has  often  been 
attended  by  dangerous  consequen- 
ces. All  prudent  good-natured 
writers  have  consulted  the  weak- 
ness of  our  nature,  and  contrived 
S    2 


128 


ON   DULNESS. 


to  throw  in  passages  at  certain  in- 
tervals, which  the  reader  may  per- 
use without  immediate  danger, 
and  rest  from  the  agitation  of  his 
sides  ;  but  the  author  who  neg- 
lects this  necessary  precaution, 
finds  himself  disappointed  in  ano- 
ther way,  and  his  schemes  de- 
feated ;  as  all  such  wicked  and 
monstrous  contrivances  should  be : 
for  nature,  which,  after  any  vio- 
lent exercise,  inclines  us  to  repose, 
no  thanks  to  the  consideration  and 
discretion  of  such  writers,  steps  in 
to  our  aid ;  and  in  all  sound  healthy 
constitutions,  when  the  risible  fa- 
culties are  exhausted,  something 
of  that  soporific  habit  which  I 
mentioned  above  is  superinduced, 
and  a  state  of  calm  insensibility 
succeeds;  so  that  we  travel  with- 
out feeling  the  least  emotion 
through  whole  chapters,  which  we 
are  morally  certain  the  author  must 
have  written  in  a  high  laugh.  From 
this  want  of  sympathy,  a  quarrel 
generally  ensues  between  the  au- 
thor and  his  readers,  and  the  epi- 
thets of  dull  and  stupid  are  very 
liberally  cast  about  on  both  sides; 
and  it  is  not  determined  to  this 
day,  to  whom  the  appellation  in 
strict  justice  belongs.  This  con- 
firms me  in  an  opinion  which  I 
have  long  entertained,  that  the  ill 
success  of  modern  writers  is  chief- 
ly to  be  ascribed  to  a  repletion  of 
wit,  as  most  disorders  in  the  hu- 
man body  are  thought  to  be  owing 
to  a  redundancy  of  some  peccant 
humours  ;  and  I  do  most  earnestly 
recommend  it  to  them,  as  they  hope 
for  the  public  blessing,  in  imita- 
tion of  Mr.  Bays,  to  try  what  bleed- 
ing and  purging  will  do  for  them 
before  they  set  about  any  future 
performance.     A  genius  of  the  last 


age  (upon  what  authority  1  know 
not)  has  decreed  that  wit  is  nearly 
allied  to  madness,  and  many  have 
run  mad  upon  it  to  shew  their  parts ; 
but  I  insist  that  there  is  a  real  and 
a  close  connection  between  wit  and 
dulness,  and  that  nothing  is  easier 
than  to  pass  from  one  to  the  other. 
It  is  sometimes,  and  upon  certain 
subjects,  quite  unavoidable,  thro' 
the  imperfection  of  thought  and 
expression,  and  because  the  pas- 
sage to  the  finest  sentiments  seems 
often  to  be  through  rough  and  un- 
pleasant roads.  Unless  some  ge- 
nius should  arise  to  give  us  a  more 
correct  map  of  this  absurd  region, 
for  the  convenience  of  travellers 
fix  precisely  the  trophies  of  wit, 
and  define  the  boundaries  of  ei- 
ther frigid  climate ;  till  then  it  is 
the  business  of  a  great  writer  to 
be  dull  with  discretion,  which  will 
always  distinguish  him  from  the 
herd  of  scribblers  ;  for  there  is  a 
secret  in  this  not  to  be  penetrated 
by  the  vulgar. 

It  is  very  absurd  to  swell  a  work 
of  humour  to  any  considerable 
magnitude  ;  not  only  because  it  is 
an  affront  to  this  serious  age  at 
any  time  to  trespass  too  far  upon 
their  precious  moments,  but  be- 
cause length  is  a  natural  enemy  to 
wit  and  humour,  and  infallibly 
destroys  it.  And  the  success  of 
such  performances  more  than  of 
any  other  depends  upon  their  no- 
velty, variety,  and  sprightliness ; 
the  first  of  which  necessarily  passes 
away  in  a  continued  work,  and  he 
must  be  more  than  mortal  who  does 
not  fail  in  one  of  the  other  two:  and, 
which  I  believe  to  be  scarcely  pos- 
sible, when,  in  two  pieces  of  une- 
qual size,  the  merit  of  both  is  equal 
throughout,  the  bulk  of  the  larger 


AN    ACCOUNT    OF    THE    VATICAN    LIBRARY. 


129 


is  always  an  unfortunate  circum- 
stance in  its  way.  For  this  reason 
I  discouraged  my  friend  Jack 
Spintext  in  the  design  which  he 
had  of  publishing  a  history  of 
his  birth,  education,  and  diverting 
adventures,  in  ten  volumes  folio. 
He  paid  me  a  visit  one  morning 
very  full  of  his  project,  and  of  the 
profit  he  expected  to  derive  from 
it.  "  You  know,"  said  he,  "  if  I 
get  but  a  hundred  pounds  by 
every  volume,  there  will  be  a  good 
thousand,  with  which  I  design  to 
purchase  an  annuity,  retire  into 
the  country,  and  defy  the  malice 
and  censure  of  the  world  for  the 
rest  of  my  days."  He  would  have 
gone  on  much  longer,  when  I  cut 
him  short  in  the  following  manner: 
"  Brother  (a  name  we  authors  go 
b}'  among  ourselves)  have  you  lost 
your  senses?  Who  do  you  think 
will  ever  (read  I  did  not  say,  for  I 
knew  he  gave  himself  no  concern 
about  that) — but  who  do  you  think 
will  ever  purchase  such  a  long  te- 
dious story,  in  which  you  have 
wiredrawn  every  atom  of  your 
existence?"  This  I  solemnly  de- 
clare was  said  to  him  in  the  ful- 
ness of  my  heart,  and  without  the 
least  view  to  prejudice  his  reputa- 
tion or  fortune;  and  when,  at  the 
same  time,  he  offered  me  a  very 
handsome  consideration  if  I  would 
undertake  to  correct  the  press:  a 
circumstance  I  mention  to  shew 
how  disinterestedly  I  acted  in  the 
affair,  and  to  justify  this  part  of  my 


conduct  to  the  world,  because  I 
understand  it  has  since  been  im- 
puted to  envy,  and  some  baser 
motive. 

It  is  one  reason  which  may  be 
given  among  many  others,  of  the 
perpetual  ill  success  of  all  con- 
tinuations, second  and  third  parts, 
that  coming  after  the  first,  they 
have  always  the  misfortune  to  be 
stale.  Was  the  author  less  lively, 
or  the  public  less  disposed  to  be 
diverted,  that  the  continuation  of 
the  Adventures  of  an  old  Woman 
did  not  take  last  year  as  was  ex- 
pected ?  Neither  of  these  perhaps 
might  be  the  case;  but  it  was  not 
in  the  nature  of  things,  that  a  con- 
tinuation should  please.  Polygon, 
when  you  command  a  particular 
dish  at  a  friend's  house,  should  you 
think  it  handsome  to  have  the 
same  set  before  you  for  two  or 
three  days  following  ?  Leave  off 
keeping  open  house,  Polygon  ;  or 
if  you  are  determined  to  invite 
your  friends,  by  all  means  buy  a 
fresh  joint:  for  though  your  mut- 
ton is  as  good  as  any  in  Leadenball 
market,  nobody  likes  to  dine  upon 
it  every  day  in  the  week.  It  is  a 
privilege  only  indulged  to  perio- 
dical writers,  to  return  upon  the 
public  at  stated  seasons  with  the 
same  entertainment.  But  even 
here  there  should  not  be  too  much 
of  that  dainty  called  wit,  which, 
being  of  the  nature  of  a  sweetmeat, 
must  be  distributed  in  small  quan- 
tities, or  it  necessarily  cloys. 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  VATICAN  LIBRARY. 


So  many  and  such  celebrated 
presses  having  been  established 
in  every  part  of  Italy,  as  they  con- 
tributed to  the  cultivation  of  the 


fine  arts  by  multiplying  the  copies 
of  valuable  books,  so  they  rendered 
it  more  easy  not  only  to  sovereigns, 
but  even  to  many  private  persons, 


130 


AN   ACCOUNT    01'    THE   VATICAN    LIBRARY; 


to  form  numerous  libraries,  and 
also  to  increase  those  which  had 
already  been  established. 

Among  these,  the  Vatican,  par- 
ticularly by  the  labours  of  Sixtus 
IV.  who  had  magnificent!)'  rebuilt 
and  opened  it  for  the  public  bene- 
fit, was  the  most  famous  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  16th  century.  How- 
ever, the  most  valuable  part  of  it 
consisted  in  MSS.  which,  by  those 
who  were  entrusted  with  the  direc- 
tion of  it,  had  been  sought  after 
more  than  printed  books;  as  well 
on  account  of  their  value  being  so 
high  that  private  persons  could 
not  so  easily  purchase  them,  as 
because  the  said  MSS.  were  of 
great  advantage  to  the  press,  both 
for  the  new  works  which  were  pub- 
lished, and  for  the  lights  which 
contributed  to  correct  and  melior- 
ate the  editions  of"  books.  For 
this  same  reason  the  succeeding 
Roman  pontiffs  continued  the  re- 
searches after  MSS.  We  have  no 
account  of  Julius  II.  which  can 
inform  us  he  was  solicitous  to  aug- 
ment this  library ;  and  we  only 
read  in  Bembo's  Life,  that  a  very 
aucientMS.  in  ciphers,  or  abridged 
characters,  which  were  happily  de- 
ciphered by  Bembo  himself,  was 
sent  to  him  from  Dacia.  But  his 
name,  however,  must  not  here  pass 
unnoticed,  because  he  formed 
another  library  for  the  greater 
convenience  of  the  popes  them- 
selves, which  was  very  valuable, 
not  so  much  for  the  number  as  for 
the  choice  of  the  books,  and  for  the 
ornaments  of  paintings,  and  of 
marbles,  which  he  added  to  it.  We 
are  indebted  for  this  account  to  a 
letter  of  Cardinal  Bembo  to  the 
same  pontiff,  dated  the  20th  of 
January,  1513. 


In  the  mean  time  the  Vatican 
had  in  Leo  X.  successor  to  Julius, 
a  pontiff  devoted  to  increase  and 
ever  disposed  to  improve  it.  It 
is  well  known  how  much  he  en- 
deavoured, and  how  many  trea- 
sures he  lavished,  in  order  to  send 
men  of  learning  into  the  most  re- 
mote countries  to  collect  new  MSS. 
nor  can  we  wonder  the  additions 
to  that  library  were  so  great  during 
his  pontificate.  Fausto  Sabeo, 
who  was  the  librarian  in  Leo's  time, 
and  in  that  of  six  other  pontiffs,  in 
one  of  his  epigrams  addressed  to 
the  same  pope,  asserts,  that  he  was 
himself  sent  by  him  among  distant 
and  barbarous  nations  in  order  to 
collect  new  MSS. 

Themagnificenceand  splendour 
of  this  pontiff  would  have  raised 
still  higher  the  renown  of  the 
Vatican,  if  he  had  lived  longer,  or 
if  his  successors  had  imitated  him. 
But  Adrian  VI.  considered  all 
books  which  were  not  sacred  as 
heathen  profaneness;  and  Clement 
VII.  though  a  pontiff  of  an  ele- 
vated mind,  lived  in  times  too  un- 
happy, and  having  entangled 
himself  in  the  wars  of  other  princes, 
he  exposed  Rome  to  the  horrid 
pillage  of  1-527,  which  was  most 
fatal  to  the  Vatican  library,  since 
many  books  became  a  pre)-  to  the 
ignorance  and  fury  of  the  barba- 
rous besiegers,  as  Schelhornio 
proves,  with  the  testimony  of  Ite- 
isnero,  who  was  witness  of  it.  — 
Fausto  Sabeo,  in  a  letter  in  which 
he  introduces  the  library,  pointing- 
out  to  Clement  the  unhappy  state 
to  which  it  was  reduced,  represents 
it  to  us  in  the  most  lamentable 
condition ;  and  informs  us  at  the 
same  time,  that  the  pontiff,  being- 
then  obliged   to  think  about  more 


AN    ACCOUNT    OF    THE    VATICAN    LIUKAUY. 


131 


weighty  matters,  did  not  care  at  all 
about  it. 

Paul  III.  who,  with  a  wiser  reso- 
lution, kept  neuter  in  the  wars  of 
other  princes,  and  vali:  d  above 
all  others  the  title  of  common  fa- 
ther, was  enabled  to  restore,  at 
least  in  a  great  measure,  the  de- 
vastations which  the  preceding 
wars  had  caused  to  Rome.  Hence 
the  Vatican  library  also  flourished 
to  a  certain  degree  under  this  pon- 
tiff, who,  among  other  things,  add- 
ed to  it  a  Greek  and  a  Latin  wri- 
ter, whose  duty  was,  not  only  the 
care  of  the  M.SS.  but  also  the  task 
of  copying  those  which  might  be 
impaired  by  age,  or  otherwise  da- 
maged. By  Marcellus  II.  had  he 
enjoyed  a  longer  pontificate,  this 
library  might  have  been  greatly 
benefited.  During  his  very  short 
reign,  he  turned  his  mind  towards 
it,  appointing  two  additional  re- 
visers or  correctors  of  books,  whom 
he  meant  afterwards  to  employ  in 
the  execution  of  his  design  of  es- 
tablishing a  Greek  and  Latin  press 
in  the  same  library,  in  order  to 
print  the  unpublished  works  which 
were  preserved  in  it.  Pius  IV. 
appointed  two  correctors  of  Greek 
books,  and  ordered  besides,  Ono- 
frio  Panvinio  and  Francis  Avan- 
zati  to  search  diligently  for  MSS. 
in  any  language,  comprehending 
also  the  Oriental  languages,  in  or- 
der to  enrich  the  Vatican  library. 
PiusV.and  GregoryXIII.were  not 
less  solicitous  to  increase  it.  The 
former  gave  orders  to  transport 
from  Avignon  158  volumes  of  let- 
ters, and  of  the  bulls  of  those 
popes  who  had  till  then  resided 
there  :  the  latter  presented  it  with 
many  of  his  own  books,  partly  in 
MS.  and  partly  printed.     But  ail 


this  appeared  little  to  the  pontiff 
Sixtus  V.  who,  among  the  prodi- 
gious and  magnificent  works  which 
he  undertook  during  his  short  pon- 
tificate of  only  six  years,  also  re- 
built the  Vatican  library  in  a  more 
majestic  style,  and  entrusted  the 
care  of  it  to  the  famous  architect 
Dominic  Fontana,  who  seconding 
the  wishes  and  the  liberality  of 
Sixtus,  completed  it  in  the  short 
space  of  one  year. 

The  description  of  this  grand 
edifice,  and  of  the  very  rich  orna- 
ments of  every  kind  added  to  it, 
together  with  the  order  in  which 
the  shelves  and  the  books  are  dis- 
posed, may  be  seen  in  the  dis- 
courses on  the  Vatican  library  of 
Muzio  Panza,  printed  in  1.330,  and 
in  the  works  of  Rocca,  which  were 
published  the  following  year,  and 
in  the  preface  to  the  first  volume 
of  the  catalogue  of  Oriental  MSS. 
of  the  same  library.  These  wri- 
ters have  there  given  an  account  of 
the  librarians  and  keepers  of  it, 
which  proves  how  anxious  the 
popes  were  to  entrust  the  care  of 
it  to  very  learned  men.  Among 
the  first,  after  Julian  of  VolteiT3, 
we  find  that  Julias  II.  elected  on 
the  17th  July,  1510,  Thomas  Fedro 
In«rhirami  as  a  librarian  ;  and  after 
his  death,  which  happened  the  5th 
of  September,  15 16,  Philip  Berval- 
do  jun.  was  chosen  by  Leo  X. 
Philip  survived  only  two  years,  and 
was  succeeded  in  Sept.  1518,  by 
Zenobio  Acciajuoli,  a  Dominican, 
who  died  the  27th  of  July  in  the 
following  year.  Hierom  Aleandro 
succeeded  him  the  same  day,  and 
continued  in  the  situation  till  1528, 
when,  on  being  made  a  cardinal, 
he  gave  up  his  employment,  which 
was   conferred   on  Augustin   Ste- 


\n 


SPANISH    J . I T I'. R A T U R V. . 


unco,  of  the  congregation  of  the 
regular  canons  of  St.  Salvador. 
After  his  death  in  1548,  Paul  III. 
ordered,  that  for  the  future  the 
place  of  librarian  to  the  Roman 
church  should,  according  to  an- 
cient custom,  belong  to  a  cardi- 
nal ;  and  the  first  whom  he  select- 
ed was  Marcellus  Cervini,who  was 
afterwards  succeeded  by  Robert  de 
Nobili,  Alphonso  Caraffer,  Mark 
Antony,  Amulio,   Guglielmo   Sir- 


leto,  Mark  Antony  Colon na,  and 
Ca:sar  Baronio.  Among  the  keep- 
ers, to  pass  over  some  who  were 
less  celebrated,  we  find  principally 
Lorenzo  Parmenio  of  St.  Gehesio, 
who  held  the  employment  from 
1511  till  1522,  which  was  the  last 
year  of  his  life;  and  Fausto  Sabeo, 
who  was  born  at  Chiari,  in  the 
territory  of  Brescia,  and  was  ap- 
pointed by  Leo  X.  and  who  lived 
till  1559. 


SPANISH  LITERATURE 

Mr.  Editor, 

In  a  former  article  I  have 
endeavoured  to  shew  the  absurdity 
of  supposing,  that  Spaniards,  tak- 
en as  a  nation,  are  deficient  either 
in  depth  of  understanding,  or  in 
brilliancy  of  fancy;  that  because 
for  the  last  two  centuries,  tyranny 
and  ignorance,  supported  by  po- 
pish authority,  have  enjoyed  an 
almost  uninterrupted  reign  in  that 
kingdom,  the  Spaniard  is  incapa- 
ble of  those  generous  actions  which 
dignify  a  noble  and  exalted  mind. 
The  brilliant  flame  which  once 
spread  its  radiance  throughout  Eu- 
rope, and  illumined  the  whole 
world,  has  been  indeed  reduced  to 
an  insignificant  spark;  but  the  fire 
has  never  been  yet  extinguished, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  day 
is  not  far  distant  when  Spain  will 
resume  her  former  station,  and  be- 


come an  ornament  among  the  Eu- 
ropean powers. 

Entertaining  these  views  of  this 
most  interesting  subject,  it  gives 
me,  and  must  afford  every  lover  of 
literature,  satisfaction,  to  observe 
the  new  publication'of  a  portion  of 
the  ancient  and  modern  Spanish 
drama,  in  which  the  productions 


of  Lope  de  Vega  and  Cervantes, 
of  Moreto,  Calderon,  and  other 
celebrated  dramatists,  are  noticed. 
This  work  appears  to  the  public 
under  the  title  of  "  Teatro  He- 
spannol,"  and  is  the  more  accept- 
able, because  at  the  decline  of 
Spanish  literature,  an  unsuccessful 
attempt  was  made  to  accomplish 
the  object  which  has  been  now  in 
a  great  measure  effected.  La  Hn- 
erta,  a  man  of  considerable  know- 
ledge and  literary  talent,  com- 
menced a  publication  of  this  na- 
ture, for  the  purpose  of  vindicating 
the  honour  of  Spanish  literature 
from  the  strictures  of  its  adversa- 
ries. Lord  Holland,  in  his  account 
of  the  life  and  writings  of  Lope 
de  Vega,  has  noticed  this  work, 
and  says,  that  in  this  work  the  au- 
thor exposes,  with  some  humour, 


a  few  oversights  of  Voltaire  and 
others,  in  their  remarks  on  Lope 
de  Vega  and  Calderon  ;  and  he 
proves  very  satisfactorily  the  im- 
perfection of  several  translations 
from  them.  But,  like  many  inju- 
dicious defenders  of  Shakspeare, 
he  was  not  contented  with  exhi- 
biting the  beauties  of  his  author, 
and  with  correcting  the  mistakes, 


Sl'ANISH    LITLHATUU1-. 


13.3 


and  exposing  the  ignorance  of  his 
opponents.  Instead  of  combating 
the  injustice  of  that  criticism 
which  would  submit  all  dramatic 
works  to  one  standard  of  excel- 
lence, he  most  unwarrantably  ar- 
raigned the  models  themselves  as 
destitute  of  all  poetic  merit  what- 
ever. Thus  was  the  cause  of  his 
countrymen  more  injured  by  his 
intemperanceas  a  critic,  than  bene- 


path  to  be  pursued,  if  a  short 
notice  is  given  of  the  principal 
measures  which  were  adopted  by 
the  best  Spanish  poets.  The  ana- 
logy between  the  Latin  and  Spa- 
nish verse  is  particularly  observable 
in  many  instances,  but  it  is  from 
the  Troubadours  and  Italians  that 
the  Spaniards  have  chiefly  borrow- 
ed. The  soneto,  the  madrigal, 
ca/tcio/i,  tcrcelo,    and   octava  ritna, 


tited  by  his  labours  as  an  editor,     may  all  be  considered   as  having 


Few  were  disposed  to  judge  fa- 
vourably of  performances  whose 
panegyrist  thought  it  necessary  to 
maintain,  that  the  Athalie  should 
have  been  confined  to  the  walls  of 
a  convent,  and  that  the  Tartuffe 
was  a  miserable  farce,  without 
humour,  character,  or  invention. 
Castilian  poetry  may  be  divided 


originated  from  this  latter  source. 
The  Spaniards  have,  however, 
several  varieties  of  metre  peculiar 
to  themselves  ;  such  are  the  redon- 
dilla  mayor  and  motor,  and  the 
trochaic  metre  used  in  their  bal- 
lads. They  employ  two  kinds  of 
rhyme — the  conso)ianle,  and  the 
asonantc,    introduced  in   the   16th 


into  four  distinct  periods :  The  :  century.  In  the  early  days  of 
first  from  its  early  dawn  'till  the  I  their  poetry  verses  of  four,  five, 
reign  of  John  II.;  the  next  from  j!  six,  and  eight  syllables  were  fre- 
that  king  to  the  days  of  Charles  V.;  jj  quently  found.  The  verses  of 
the  third  from  that  emperor  down  jj  twelve  syllables  are  termed  de  arte 
to  Philip  IV. ;   and  the  last,  down  I  mayor,  and  were  used  by  Alfonso  in 


to  the  Austrian  monarch  Charles 
II.  Thus  its  first  state  may  be 
compared  to  its  infancy,  the 
second  to  its  juvenile  days,  the 
third  to  its  vigour  and  manhood, 
and  the  fourth  to  its  old  age  and 
decline.  To  enumerate  the  va- 
rious minor  poets  who  lived  in  the 


his  poem  of  Las  Querelas.  Verses 
ending  with  an  echo  were  invented 
by  Juan  de  la  Encina;  those  called 
esdrujulo  were  first  used  by  Cav- 
rasco  de  Figueroa ;  and  Vicente 
Espinel  is  said  to  be  the  inventor 
of  the  verses  called  after  him, 
esphielas.     Blank  verse  is  of  great 


commencement  of  this  era,  would  ■,  antiquity  in  Spain,  and  Spaniards 
be  a  tedious  and  useless  task  ;  te-  ||  seem  as  sensible  of  its  dignity  and 
dious,  because  of  their  infinite  j[  majesty,  as  those  who  boast  of 
number;  and  useless,  because  if  gi-  j  being  the  countrymen  of  the  great 
ven,  it  would  afford  little  informa-  John  Milton.  In  1547  Alonzo  de 
tion,  and   by  a   reference   to   the  |j  Fuentes    of   Seville    published    a 


Bibliotkeca  Hispana  of  Don  Nico- 
las Antonio,  the  curious  reader 
would  find  a  full  and  tolerably  ac- 
curate list  of  them.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  will  not  be  considered 
an  unnecessary  deviation  from  the 
Ful  X.  Xo.  LVIL 


poem  in  blank  verse,  at  the  time 
when  Tressino  first  introduced  it 
into  Italy. 

Irv  the  early  history  of  Spanish 
poetry,  a  singular  satirist  has  es- 
caped the  research  of  Don  Nicola* 
T 


84 


CORUESPONDENCIi   OF   THE  ADVISER. 


Antonio,  and  most  other  biogra- 
phers, until  discovered  by  Don 
Lewis  Velasquez.  This  is  Juan 
Ruiz,  arch-priest  of  Hita,  whose 
works  are  in  manuscript  in  the  libra- 
ry of  Toledo.  This  poem  describes 
a  contest  between  the  time  of  eat  ing 
meat  and  Lent,  wherein  the  for- 
mer is  defeated  on  Ash-Wednes- 
day, and  remains  in  a  dejected 
state  until  Holy  Week,  when  enter- 
ing the  lists,  he  sends  a  challenge 
to  Lent  by  Don  Breakfast,  fixing 
the  time  of  combat  on  Easter 
Sunday.  Lent,  not  thinking  him- 
self obliged  to  receive  a  challenge 
from  one  whom  he  has  vanquished, 
makes  his  escape  on  Holy  Thurs- 
day. The  work  is  not  destitute  of 
poetical  invention,  and  seems  to 
be  a  violent  satire  on  the  times, 
abounding  with  moral  reflections, 
as  well  as  lively  descriptions  of 
the  vices  of  some  of  the  principal 
personages  of  the  court.  At  the 
same  time,  the  poet  seems  to  laugh 
in  his  easy  chair,  and  might  have 
furnished  a  model  for  Rabelais. 
From  the  freedom  with  which  the 
arch-priest  painted  the  vices  of 
the  times,  he  may  be  called  the 
Petronius  of  Spain. 

In  the  second  epoch,  the  Casti- 
lian  Muse  began  to  assume  a  loftier 
flight.  Juan  de  Mena  introduced 
an  elegance  and  sweetness  of  ex- 
pression peculiar  to  himself.  His 
most  celebrated  piece  is  his  "  La- 


byrintho,"  in  three  hundred  ocUi- 
vas;  whence  it  is  called  "  Las 
tres  Cientas."  George  Manrique 
polished  and  embellished  the  lan- 
guage with  more  easy  rhyme. 
Lopez  de  Mendoza,  Marquis  of 
Santillana,  disembarrassed  it  from 
the  fetters  of  couplets,  and  first 
introduced  the  versification  of  the 
Italians.  The  marquis  lived  in 
the  time  of  Henry  IV.  son  to  John 
II.  By  order  of  King  John,  he 
drew  up  a  collection  of  moral  pro- 
verbs for  the  instruction  of  Prince 
Henry.  He  likewise  made  a  col- 
lection of  ancient  proverbs,  which 
were  reprinted,  with  other  curious 
pieces  of  Spanish  literature,  in 
1737,  by  Don  Gregorio  Mayans. 
Juan  de  la  Encina  succeeded  the 
marquis,  and  shewed  that  the 
Spanish  language  was  equal  to  the 
power  of  the  drama  :  he  followed 
the  example  of  the  Marquis  of 
Villena  in  translating  the  Latin 
poets.  His  principal  poem  is 
called  "  Triumfo  de  la  Fama." 
He  also  wrote  in  prose  "  Arte  de 
Poesia  Castellana,"  dedicated  to 
Prince  John.  Both  these  works 
he  completed  between  the  age  of 
14  and  25,  as  appears  from  the 
collection  of  his  works  printed  at 
Saragossa  in  1516. 

The  third  period,  or  golden  age, 
of  Spanish  poetry,  including  the 
16th  century,  will  be  noticed  in 
the  next  article. 


CORRESPONDENCE  OF  THE  ADVISER. 


Sir, 


I  should  be  extremely  obli- 
ged to  you  if  you  could  advise  me 
how  to  get  rid  of  a  gentleman  who 
is  determined  upon  being  my  in- 
timate friend,  whether  I  will   or 


not.  I  chanced  to  meet  this  per- 
son, Mr.  Stickfast,  some  time  ago 
at  the  house  of  a  gentleman,  with 
whom,  as  I  afterwards  found,  he 
had  but  a  very  slight  acquaintance. 
The  conversation  turned  upon  the 


eOR.IlRSTONnENC.fc  op  thr  advisrh. 


13.5 


French  language;  I  was  complain- 
ing of  the  difficulty  I  found  in  ac- 
quiring   the   proper   accent,    and 
Mr.  Stickfast  immediately  inform- 
ed me,  in  very  obliging  terms,  that 
he  had  been  so  long  in  France  that 
he    was     generally    taken    for    a  I 
Frenchman,  and  that  he  would  be  ! 
very  happy  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  | 
with  me  occasionally,  for  the  pur-  ; 
pose  of  conversing    in    that    Ian-  I 
guage,  by  which  means  he  did  not 
doubt  that  I  should  soon   acquire 
the  accent.     I  of  course  expressed 
myself  obliged,  and  as  he  proposed 
to  come  the  next  morning,  I  invit- 
ed him  to  breakfast. 

"  What,  my  friend,"  cried  he, 
on  entering,  "  do  you  breakfast  in 
the  English  fashion  ?  Thatisaverv 
bad  plan;  you  must  reform  it,  if 
you  are  desirous  to  speak  French 
well.  It  is  astonishing  howfastone 
gets  on  in  the  pronunciation  by- 
conversing  freely  at  table;  and 
what  can  one  find  to  say  over  mere 
bread  and  butter?  Now  a.  dejeuner 
d  la  fourchette,  on  the  contrary,  sets 
one's  tongue  running  directly." 

"  I  should  think  that  a  heavy 
meal  was  more  likely  to  impede 
than  to  help  conversation,"  cried 
I. — "  By  no  means,"  replied  he  has- 
tily; "  I  assure  you,  that  I  never 
converse  with  such  ease  and  fluen- 
cy as  while  I  am  eating  heartily." 
At  these  words  my  wife  looked 
significantly  at  the  table,  which, 
to  say  the  truth,  was  plentifully 
covered  with  tea,  coffee,  eggs,  and 
different  kinds  of  bread.  "  Oh, 
my  dear  madam,"  cried  Mr.  Stick- 
fast,  translating  her  glance,  "  this 
is  all  very  well  as  garnish  to  the 
more  solid  part  of  a  breakfast!  But 
perhaps  you  have  nothing  but  cold 
meat  in  the  house  ;  if  so,  we  can 


make  a  shift  with  that  for  the  pre- 
sent." Some  cold  roast  beef  was 
accordingly  brought,  and  Stick- 
fast  ate  very  heartily  of  it,  though 
he  took  care  to  declare  between 
every  mouthful,  that  a  breakfast 
could  hardly  be  called  a  meal 
unless  one  had  two  or  three  nice 
little  French  dishes.  At  last  the 
repast,  which  I  must  observe  our 
visitor  lengthened  to  an  uncon- 
scionable time,  was  concluded. 
"  A  lions,  mon  ami,"  cried  he  to  me, 
"  let  us  begin  ;"  and  begin  he  did, 
for  he  chattered  for  half  an  hour 
almost  incessantly.  I  did  contrive 
to  be  sure  now  and  then  to  edge  in 
a  oui  or  non,  for  he  never  permit- 
ted me  to  get  farther.  As  to  catch 
any  thing  of  the  accent,  it  was  im- 
possible, from  the  rapidity  with 
which  he  dashed  on,  even  to  under- 
stand what  he  said. 

At  last  he  paused,  seemingly 
out  of  breath,  and  asked  me  in 
English,  whether  I  did  not  feel  my- 
self somewhat  exhausted.  "  Ex- 
hausted !"  cried  I,  "  with  what  ?" 
— "  With  talking,"  replied  he 
gravely:  "  I  assure  }'ou  I  am  quite 
tired  ;  and  as  I  am  sure  you  must 
be  so  too,  we  had  better  have  a 
glass  of  wine;  it  will  enable  us  to 
go  on  with  spirit." 

I  ordered  a  bottle  immediately, 
but  protested  my  inability  to  par- 
take of  it  so  soon  after  breakfast. 
Stickfast  assured  me  I  was  wrong, 
that  a  glass  or  two  would  give  a 
flow  to  m}'  ideas,  and  by  setting 
me  talking  freely,  would  enable 
him  to  correct  the  faults  of  my 
pronunciation.  I  was  beginning 
in  French  a  defence  of  my  abste- 
miousness, which  he  interrupted 
by  bursting  into  an  eulogium  upon 
French  wines,  and  he  continued  tc 
T  2 


COlUtESPONIJKNCF    OP   Till-    4UVISKU. 


give  me  an  account  of  all  the  dif- 
ferent sorts  he  had  drunk  in  the 
southern  provinces,  until  he  re- 
collected, just  as  he  had  emptied 
the  decanter,  that  he  had  an  en- 
gagement, and  he  hurried  away, 
making  an  unsolicited  promise  to 
come  again  soon. 

You  will   readily   believe,    Mr. 
Adviser,  I  was  not  very  anxious  for 
a  repetition  of  his  visit,  but  there 
is  absolutely  no  shaking  him  off. 
He  either  darts  in  without  giving 
the  servant  time  to  say  I  am  not  at 
home,  or  else  he  tells  him  that  he 
must  pay  his  respects  to  my  wife ; 
or  if  she  too  is  denied,  he  runs  up 
stairs  under  pretence  of  writing  a 
note;  and  when  once  he  gains  ad- 
mission, there  is  no  chance  of  his 
going  out  till  he  has  breakfasted, 
dined,  or  spent  the  evening. 

He  played  me  a  trick  a  short 
time  ago,  which  occasioned  me  to 
be  in  hot  water  for  a  week  after- 
wards. My  wife  was  out,  and  it  was 
uncertain  whether  she  would  re- 
turn to  dinner;  I  intended,  if  she 
did  not,  to  go  to  the  theatre  imme- 
diately after  I  had  dined.  To  my 
great  mortification,  just  before 
dinner  Stickfast  made  his  appear- 
ance. I  apologized  for  not  asking 
him  to  stop,  by  saying  I  was  just 
going  to  dinner,  and  had  an  en- 
gagement directly  afterwards. — 
H  Nothing  can  be  more  lucky  for 
me,"  cried  he  ;  "I  am  engaged  to 
dinner;  but  I  know  I  shall  be  too 
late,  so  as  yours  is  ready,  I  can 
partake  of  it  without  detaining 
you  a  moment." 

As  I  know  that  he  is  always  an 
unconscionable  time  at  table,  I 
thought  I  would  get  rid  of  him  if 


of  the  wine-cellar.     I  don't  mind 
for   myself,   but   I    can't  think  of 
asking  you  to  make  a  dinner  with- 
out wine." — "   N'importe"   cried 
he,  "  I  will  make  a  shift  for  once. 
But  really,  my  dear  fellow,  you 
manage  matters  very   badly  ;  you 
should  never  give  the  key  of  your 
wine-cellar  out  of  your  own  pos- 
session.  But  now  I  think  of  it,  we 
can  remedy  this  mischance:  there 
is  an  excellent  tavern  just  by."     I 
did  not  choose  to  hear  these  words, 
and  we  proceeded  to  the  dining- 
room.    Just  as  the  dinner  was  over, 
and  Stickfast  had  taken  up  his  hat 
to  go,  my  wife  entered.  "  My  dear 
madam,"  cried  he,  immediately  re- 
seating himself,  "  we  have  been 
wishing   for   you   this  hour.     My 
poor  friend  has  scarcely  been  able 
to  swallow  a  morsel  of  dinner  for 
want  of  a  glass  of  wine  ;  but  I  as- 
sure you  he  behaved  admirablj-; 
he  never  once  grumbled  at  your 
having  by  mistake  carried  off  the 
key  of  the  cellar :  so  by  way  of  re- 
ward for  his  patience,  you  must 
really  order  us  up  some  now." 

My  wife,  who,  between  our- 
selves, exercises  more  than  her 
share  of  authority  in  the  family, 
was  equally  astonished  and  enraged 
at  being  charged  with  an  exertion 
of  power,  which,  to  do  her  justice, 
she  has  never  attempted  to  make; 
but  the  more  strongly  she  denied 
the  fact,  the  more  pertinaciously 
he  insisted  upon  it.  I  was  forced 
at  last  to  stop  his  mouth  by  pre- 
tending that  I  had  found  the  key, 
which  of  course  led  to  the  ordering 
some  wine,  which  he  had  the  com- 
plaisance to  stay  and  drink  by  him- 
self, for  I  quitted  the  room  on  pre- 


I  could.  "  Unfortunately,"  cried  I,     tence  of  my  engagement,  and  my 
'■  Mrs.  T.  is  out,  and  has  the  key  |  wife  was  too  angry  to  remain  with 


PAUISIAN    SKF.TCHTvS. 


137 


him.  As  soon  as  lie  was  gone,  she 
transferred  the  weight  of  her  re- 
sentment to  me,  and  all  my  endea- 
vours to  pacify  her  were  for  some 
clays  in  vain.  At  last  she  has  sign- 
ed my  pardon,  on  condition  that  I 
shall  never  let  Stickfast  enter  my 
house  again.  I  am  very  willing  to 
keep  him  out,  if  I  could  do  it  with- 
out absolutely  ordering  the  door  to 
be  shut  in  his  face,  which,  I  must 
own,  troublesome  as  the  fellow  is, 
I  am  loth  to  do.  If,  Mr.  Adviser, 
you  can  suggest  any  other  method 
of  getting   rid   of  him,   you   will 


very  much  oblige  your  humble  ser- 
vant, S.T. 


I  have  inserted  this  letter,  be- 
cause I  think  that  my  correspond- 
ent has  drawn  Mr.  Stickfast  in  co- 
lours which  cannot  be  mistaken  :  I 
advise  him  therefore  to  send  this 
number  of  the  Repository  to  Stick- 
fast himself;  and  if,  after  that,  he 
presumes  to  repeat  his  visits,  I 
think  Mr.  T.  need  not  any  longer 
scruple  to  order  his  servant  to  in- 
form him  that  he  is  not  to  be  admit- 
ted. S.  SAGEPHIZ. 




J'e 


'en  ai  deja  touche  l'argent:   il  est  en 
veut  se  borner  a  cette  petite  fortune,  nou 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES. 

No.  XT. 

HISTOIRE  D'UN  HONNETE  HOMME. 

surete  j'ai  quarante  mille  francs.     Si  ton  ambition 
is  allons  faire  souche  d'bonnetes  gens. 


• 


gens 
Le  Sage,   Turaret. 


In  one  of  my  former  sketches  I 
have  endeavoured  to  shew  the  real 
characters  of  too  many  whom  the 
world  honours  with  the  title  of  hon- 
nttes  gens ;  yet  who,  according  to 
the  laws  of  morality  and  religion, 
ought  deservedly  to  be  the  objects 
of  our  abhorrence,  or  at  least. of 
our  contempt.  Egotism  has,  how- 
ever, rendered  every  thing  relative. 
Reputation  itself  borrows  a  prin- 
cipal piirt  of  its  eclat  from  the  ad- 
vantageous situation  in  which  those 
may  happen  to  be  placed  whose 
credit  it  becomes  the  interest  of 
others  to  support;  there  does  not 
exist  the  man  whose  character  his 
enemies  may  not  succeed  in  de- 
faming, or  whose  villany  his  friends 
may  not  veil  from  the  public  eye. 
In  Paris,  reputation  may  easily  be 
changed  by  removing  from  one 
habitation  to  another.  What  then 
would  be  the  result  in  the  event  of 


a  change  of  country?  The  past 
would  be  blotted  out.  The  wretch, 
laden  with  wealth  and  ignominy, 
in  flying  from  the  scenes  which 
witrfessed  his  crimes,  would  leave 
shame  behind  him  at  the  frontiers; 
and  the  bearer  of  testimonials  to 
his  virtue  and  honesty  in  the  shape 
of  bank-notes,  would  boldly  asso- 
ciate with  men  of  integrity  and 
honour  in  a  country  where  he  felt 
assured  his  real  character  was  un- 
known/ 

This  Is  not  exactly  the  case  with 
the  person  whose  history  I  am  about 
to  lay  before  my  readers,  but  such 
a  train  of  reflections  would  natu- 
rally recal  him  to  mind.  George 
Thibaut  had  received  from  nature 
one  of  those  weak  characters  sus- 
ceptible alike  of  every  impression 
whether  good  or  evil,  which  pas- 
sively suffer  themselves  to  be  ele- 
vated  to    virtue   or    degraded    to 


138 


PARISIAN   SKLIiTGIiKS. 


vice  by  circumstances;  and  when 
they  have  deservedly  incurred  re- 
proach for  their  errors,  think  it  a 
sufficient  justification  to  allege 
the  correctness  of  their  intention. 
A  legible  hand-writing  and  plod- 
ding habits  had  recommended  him 
to  several  of  the  inferior  stations 
in  a  public  office;  but  as  bis  abili- 
ties were  narrow,  and  he  had  no 
powerful  patrons,  his  promotion 
was  always  uncertain.  Reckoning 
upon  the  permanency  of  his  situa- 
tion, Thibaut  had  married  an  ami- 
able and  sensible,  but  portionless 
young  woman.  Nevertheless,  by 
a  laudable  economy  he  had  hither- 
to kept  above  want;  his  wife  had 
presented  him  with  two  lovely 
children,  who  improved  in  mind 
and  person  as  they  grew  up,  in 
spite  of  all  obstacles,  and  she  had 
just  lain  in  of  a  third  when  poor 
George  received  his  dismission. 
The  new  director  of  his  depart- 
ment thought  it  necessary  to  sig- 
nalize his  appointment  by  a  com- 
pliance with  the  popular  cry  of  the 
day.  "  Retrenchment"  was  the 
fashion  ;  with  one  stroke  of  his  pen 
he  involved  a  hundred  deserving 
persons  in  misery  and  distress,  and 
internally  feeling  the  injustice  and 
cruelty  of  such  a  measure,  he  an- 
nounced it  as  irrevocable;  an  ex- 
cellent mode  of  getting  rid  of  com- 
plaints and  expostulations. 

Despair  can  never  bring  relief: 
George  did  not  suffer  himself  to 
be  discouraged;  he  applied  to  all 
whom  he  thought  his  friends,  and 
at  length  found  one  in  a  large  con- 
tractor for  government  stores,  who 
had  amassed  an  immense  fortune, 
and  wanted  a  secretary  to  copy  his 
letters.  He  required  a  person  able 
to  write  his  own  language  correct- 


ly, so  as  to  be  capable  of  supply- 
ing his  place  in  corresponding 
when  necessary,  one  who  would 
not  object  to  remain  in  his  office 
from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
till  nine  in  the  evening;  and  he 
offered  to  any  person  who  possess- 
ed all  these  qualifications  1800 
francs  (£15)  a  year,  with  a  promise 
of  augmenting  his  salary  if  he 
found  him  deserving."  George 
suited  him  entirely;  and  the  con- 
tractor having  learned  that  he  had 
been  dismissed  and  was  in  distress, 
took  advantage  of  his  misfortune, 
and  obliged  him  to  come  for  a 
month  upon  trial  without  remune- 
ration. 

George's  new  master  had  been 
many  years  in  the  service  of  the 
Count  de  Leyrac,  and  was  actually 
in  hopes  of  succeeding  to  the  post 
of  valet  de  chambre  when  the  Re- 
volution took  place.  His  master 
quitted  France;  Germain  remained 
behind.  His  industry  left  no  path 
untried,  and  one  continued  series 
of  success  crowned  his  exertions; 
he  purchased  furniture,  took  leases 
of  the  vacant  hotels,  contracted 
for  the  demolition  of  the  chateaux 
of  the  nobility,  and  was  soon  con- 
sidered one  of  the  richest  capital- 
ists ill  Paris.  To  prove  himself 
worthy  of  his  good  fortune,  his  ex- 
travagance was  boundless;  his  man- 
ners lost  their  former  rusticity;  fa- 
shionably rude  to  his  old  bene- 
factors, he  was  supple  and  cring- 
ing to  his  present  ones:  the  women 
found  his  magnificent  parties  de- 
lightful; the  men  agreed  that  he 
was  really  almost  deserving  of  his 
wealth ;  and  by  degrees,  he  had 
become  accustomed  to  that  consi- 
deration which  riches  invariably 
command   in   whatever  way   they 


V  VRISfAN   SKETCHES'. 


139 


may  have  been  acquired.  Ger- 
main, whose  assumed  name  I  shall 
not  mention  for  private  reasons, 
had  attained  the  summit  of  pro- 
sperity, when  a  trifling  accident 
threatened  to  overthrow  the  edifice 
he  had  reared  with  so  much  toil 
and  pains. 

Not  contented  with  the  immense 
profits  he  derived  from  his  con- 
tracts with  government,  Germain, 
become  more  insatiable  in  propor- 
tion as  his  treasures  increased,  had 
amused  himself  from  time  to  time 
by  falsifying  his  accounts:  his  in- 
genuity had  found  out  the  secret 
of  doubling  the  number  of  the 
signatures  of  some  of  the  princi- 
pal officers  of  government;  and 
the  treasury,  which  seldom  calls  in 
question  the  correctness  of  a  con- 
tractor's acccunts,  had  paid  for  a 
few  articles,  which,  by  mere  for- 
getfulness  on  his  part,  were  never 
supplied.  If  Germain  had  been 
prudent  enough  to  stop  at  these 
first  essays  of  his  ingenuity,  no- 
thing would  have  been  discovered ; 
but  he  was  so  indiscreet  as  to  go 
on,  and  whether  his  hand  grew 
careless  by  habit,  or  the  facility 
with  which  he  found  his  accounts 
were  passed  made  him  more  negli- 
gent, certain  it  is,  that  at  last  sus- 
picions arose,  at  which  he  became 
seriously  alarmed. 

Twelve  hundred  thousand  livres 
per  annum  form  a  vast  mass  of  pre- 
sumptive evidence  in  favour  of  an 
accused  person,  perhaps  one  of  the 
strongest  proofs  of  innocence  that 
can  be  adduced  in  the  eyes  of  jus- 
tice. Germain  knew  this  well,  and 
his  terror  was  consequently  not  of 
long  duration.  However,  having 
learned  that  an  accusation  had  been 
preferred  against  him,  and  that  it 


was  in  contemplation  to  arrest  him, 
investigate  his  accounts,  and  com- 
pel him  to  a  private  restitution  of 
his  ill-gotten  profits,  he  resolved 
to  provide  against  any  such  dis- 
agreeable result.  With  this  view, 
he  sounded  several  of  his  clerks, 
and  not  succeeding,  applied  to 
George.  He  knew  the  distressed 
situation  of  his  secretary,  his  do- 
mestic embarrassments,  and  the 
poverty  which  threatened  him ;  and 
after  a  preparatory  conversation  of 
some  length,  he  gave  Thibaut  to 
understand  that  it  depended  upon 
himself  to  ameliorate  his  own  des- 
tiny, and  that  of  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Without  wholly  explaining 
himself,  he  insinuated  that  a  great 
sacrifice  would  be  required,  the 
reward  for  which  would  be  propor- 
tionably  liberal.  The  words  tri- 
bunal, justice,  imprisonment,  es- 
caped from  his  lips;  and  desiring 
George  to  return  to  his  family  for 
the  rest  of  the  day,  he  put  into  his 
hands  a  copy  of  les  Codes,  recom- 
mending him  to  read  over  atten- 
tively pages  617  and  618.  As  soon 
as  he  reached  home,  Thibaut  open- 
ed the  book,  and  at  the  marked 
pages  it  treated  on  the  punishment 
decreed  for  those  guilty  of  the 
crime  of  forgery  in  public  or  pri- 
vate accounts.  A  sudden  light 
broke  upon  the  bewildered  George; 
he  saw  the  precipice  before  him, 
and  recoiled  from  it  with  horror. 

Thibaut  had  shut  the  book;  he 
reopened  it  mechanically  ;  his  eyes 
involuntarily  glanced  over  the  pa- 
ragraph; he  read  it  a  second  time, 
and  again  a  third  time,  then  closing 
the  book,  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  repeating  the  clauses  to 
himself.  The  ragged  clothing  of 
his  family  met  his  view,  and  a  sigh 


140 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES. 


escaped  him  in  comparing  them 
with  those  of  the  family  of  M. 
Germain.  His  wife,  habituated 
and  resigned  to  every  privation  as 
regarded  herself,  could  not  behold 
her  children  want  without  tears. 
"  So  very  little  would  make  us  all 
happy,"  said  she. — "  So  little!" 
exclaimed  Thibaut,  and  rushed  out 
of  the  house  without  uttering  an- 
other word. 

At  the  door  he  met  a  poor  crea- 
ture whose  honesty  was  unques- 
tioned, yet  who  was  actually  starv- 
ing: this  miserable  end,  which  seem- 
ed alike  impending  over  Thibaut 
and  his  little  ones,  made  him  shud- 
der. Some  paces  farther  on,  he 
was  nodded  to  by  a  bankrupt  in 
his  carriage.  Every  one  seemed 
to  shun  the  first;  every  one,  on 
the  contrary,  courted  the  notice  of 
the  second.  This  difference  could 
not  escape  Thibaut's  observation. 
Whilst  he  was  leaning  against  the 
wall  absorbed  in  these  reflections, 
he  was  accosted  by -a  friend,  from 
whom  he  learned,  that  the  splendid 
equipage  belonged  to  a  man  who 
had  purchased  by  five  years'  resi- 
dence in  Sainte  Pelagie,  the  right 
of  defrauding  his  principal  credit- 
or. On  his  return  home,  he  was 
astonished  to  find  that  his  wife  had 
received  a  visit  from  M.  Germain, 
who  had  expressed  a  lively  interest 
in  her  welfare,  and  whose  generous 
sensibility  had  not  confined  itself 
to  mere  verbal  assurances  of  friend- 
ship. 

George  passed  a  wretched  night, 
agitated  by  a  thousand  conflicting 
thoughts.  In  the  morning,  having 
weighed  well  all  the  advantages 
and  disadvantages  of  the  two  lines 
of  conduct  before  him,  he  formed 
his  resolution,  and  hastened  to  the 


house  of  his  master,  who  was  anx- 
iously expecting  him.  As  soon  as 
the  latter  perceived  Thibaut,  he 
ran  to  meet  him,  took  him  by  the 
hand,  and,  after  having  compelled 
him  to  partake  of  an  elegant  and 
sumptuous  breakfast,  demanded 
what  he  had  decided  upon.  "  To 
serve  you,"  replied  George.--"  In- 
deed !" — "  I  have  read  the  penal 
code  with  attention,  and  I  am  per- 
fectly aware  of  the  punishment  I 
incur  by  taking  upon  myself  the 
errors  which  you  have  committed 
in  your  accounts." — "  Errors  !  an 
excellent  word." — "  Ten  years' 
imprisonment  and  hard  labour  will 
be  my  sentence." — "  It  may,  how- 
ever, possibly  be  mitigated ;  we 
shall  be  able  to  bring  forward  or 
invent  circumstances  which  may 
induce  the  judges  to  remit  one 
half.  You  are  twenty-seven  years 
of  age ;  at  thirty-two  you  will  re- 
enter the  world  with  recommenda- 
tions from  your  inspectors,  and  a 
debt  of  gratitude  due  from  me, 
which  can  never  be  repaid." — "  On 
the  latter  alone  I  build  my  hopes." 
— "  Go  on." — "  I  have  a  wife  and 
three  children." — "  Lovely  crea- 
tures ;  I  saw  them  yesterday,  and  I 
promise  you  never  to  forsake  them." 
j  — "  I  demand  then  first,  that  you 
shall  settle  upon  my  wife  10,000 
francs  (400  pounds)  a  year,  and 
give  each  of  my  children  20,000 
crowns  ;  the  money  to  be  deposit- 
ed to  -  morrow  with  a  solicitor 
whom  I  shall  name." — "  But,  my 
dear  friend,  this  is  too  exorbitant," 
— "  Besides  this,  you  shall  give  me 
100  louis  for  the  expenses  of  my 
trial,  &c." — "  That  is  something 
more  reasonable." — "  A  thousand 
crowns  after  my  sentence  is  passed, 
in  order  to  mitigate  the  rigour  of 


I'AItl  -IAN   SKIvTCHF.S. 


141 


its  execution." — "  Is  that  requi- 
site r" — "  Ami  HK)0  louis  on  my 
committal  to  prison,  to  enable  poe 
to  effect  my  escape,  and  procure  a  i 
passageon  board  some  vessel  to  the  | 
United  States,  whither  I  shall  im-  ! 
inedialelv  repair  with  my  family."  ; 
— "  Really,  my  dear  Thibaut,  you  | 
cannot  be  in  earnest  :  all  this 
amounts  to  nearly  400,000  francs." 
— f  I  save  your  honour  and  repu- 
tation."— "  True,  but  in  consci- 
ence you  ask  too  much." — "  Only 
imagine  me inyour situation." — "I 
can  conceive  all  the  disagreeables 
of  it :  to  see  oneself  brought  to 
trial  and  condemned,  it  is  doubt- 
less very  distressing ;  but  3Tou  know 
when  one's  conscience  is  clear,  the 
opinions  of  other  people  are  of 
no  very  material  consequence:  be- 
sides, 3'0u  take  the  worst  side  of 
the  question  ;  we  may  find  means 
to  evade  the  laws,  some  flaw  in  the 
indictment,  or  the  absence  of  a 
witness:  I  shall  snare  no  expense, 
I  assure  yon.  Come,  come,  you 
must  lower  your  demand  :  besides, 
you  are  not  a  little  compromised 
in  this  business  yourself;  you  have 
kept  my  books.  I  do  not  say  this 
to  intimidate  you,  but  I  really 
think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
you  if  you  got  200.0;  0  francs  by  | 
such  a  trifling  affair  :  many  people- 
would  be  glad  to  be  in  your  place. 
I  should  myself,  if  I  were  as  de- 
stituteasyouare;  butunfortunately 
I  have  acquired  wealth,  and  this  is 
too  great  a  sacrifice."  Thibaut 
smiled  contemptuously,  and  then  j 
assuming  a  more  serious  tone,  sig- 
nified to  his  master,  that  his  resolu- 
tion was  fixed,  and  that  no  argu- 
ments could  induce  him  to  alter  it. 
The  latter  tried  in  vain  to  shake 
Vol.  X.  No.  LI  II. 


his  determination;  heexaggeiated 
the  chances  of  an  acquittal,  of 
which  he  knew  very  well  there  was 
no  hope;  but  at  length  seeing  that 
he  could  not  make  a  better  bargain, 
he  was  obliged  to  accede  to 
George's  terms,  in  order  to  screen 
himself  from  the  punishment  he 
so  justly  merited. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days,  suspi- 
cion was  artfully  directed  to  Thi- 
baut: he  was  arrested,  tried,  and 
found  guilty.  Every  one  execra- 
ted his  perfidy,  and  pitied  the 
worthy  contractor  for  having  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  place  confi- 
dence in  such  a  villain.  He  an- 
swered the  condolences  of  his 
friends  by  expressing  his  compas- 
sion for  his  unhappy  clerk,  and  ac- 
quired the  greatest  praise  for  his 
generous  benevolence  in  publicly 
bestowing  on  poor  Thibaut  the 
hundred  louis  previously  agreed 
upon  between  them. 

George's  wife  and  children  quit- 
ted France  before  the  conclusion 
of  a  trial,  the  issue  of  which  could 
not  be  doubted;  they  took  with 
them  the  price  of  their  husband's 
and  father's  disgrace,  and  chang- 
ing their  name,  settled  at  Philadel- 
phia. 

At  the  expiration  of  six  months, 
George  rejoined  them  at  that  city. 
No  one  has  ever  suspected  his  ad- 
ventures: he  lives  there  very  retir- 
ed, educating  his  children,  whom 
he  has  protected  from  poverty  and 
seduction,  in  principles  more  solid 
than  those  he  himself  received; 
and  has  made  himself  equally  he- 
loved  and  respected  by  Ids  irre- 
proachable conduct.  So  true  is  it 
that  there  are  men  in  the  world  to 
whom   nothing   but   a   little  more 


U 


142 


AUGUSTUS   AND    CECILM. 


wealth  is  wanting  to  render  them 
deserving  of  the  title  of  hotmites 
gens.  Such  is  the  anecdote,  which 
may  possibly  afford  amusementand 


instruction  to  my  readers.  With 
the  exception  of  the  names,  which 
I  have  altered,  it  is  no  fiction. 


AUGUSTUS  AND  CECILIA 


Mrs.  Meredith  and  Mrs.  How- 
ard had  been  friends  from  their 
childhood ;  they  were  married  at 
the  same  time,  and  became  mo- 
thers on  the  same  day;  the  first  j 
of  a  son,  and  the  latter  of  a  daugh-  I 

ter.     The  former  was  born  blind,  I 

i 

and  this  circumstance  so  afflicted 
his  mother,  who  had  great  sensi- 
bility, that  her  friends  feared  she 
would  not  survive  her  accouche- 
ment. Providence,  however,  order- 
ed it  otherwise;  she  recovered,  to 
devote  herself  with  the  fondest  and 
most  incessant  care  to  her  duties 
as  a  mother.  Her  little  Augustus 
grew  up  healthy,  lively,  and  in- 
telligent;  his  beauty  was  the  ad- 
miration of  every  body,  and  his 
misfortunes  and  amiable  temper 
rendered  him  an  object  of  interest 
to  all  who  knew  him. 

Mrs.  Howard,  the  attached  and 
tender  friend  of  his  mother,  had 
felt  for  Augustus, from  the  moment 
of  his  birth,  an  affection  that  was 
almost  maternal.  She  had  secretly 
resolved,  that  if  Heaven  deprived 
him  of  his  mother,  she  would  sup- 
ply her  place.  Her  daughter  and 
Augustus  were  almost  constantly 
together:  the  little  Cecilia,  who 
was  naturally  of  a  tender  and  com- 
passionate disposition,  soon  be- 
came sensible  of  the  misfortune 
under  which  her  beautiful  play- 
fellow laboured,  and  she  endea- 
voured, by  all  the  kind  attentions 
which  she  could  shew  him, to  alle- 


viate it.  As  the  children  grew  up, 
they  became  warmly  attached  to 
each  other,  and  the  parents  on 
both  sides  saw  with  pleasure  the 
growth  of  an  affection,  which  pro- 
mised to  form  their  mutual  happi- 
ness. 

During  the  infancy  and  child- 
hood of  Augustus,  every  means 
had  been  tried  to  restore  him  to 
sight,  but  in  vain.  He  had  nearly 
attained  his  twentieth  year,  when 
an  oculist,  who  has  since  become 
very  celebrated  in  his  profession, 
was  just  beginning  to  be  talked  of. 
Mr.  Meredith  applied  to  him,  but 
with  little  hope  :  to  his  surprise 
and  joy,  he  declared  that  he  he  did 
not  despair  of  procuring  for  his 
son  the  blessinsr  of  sight.  One 
may  easily  conceive  the  transports 
with  which  the  lovers  and  their 
fond  parents  heard  this  declaration, 
but  the  delight  of  Cecilia  was  not 
unmingled  with  pain;  she  looked 
forward  with  apprehension  to  the 
moment  in  which  Augustus  would 
have  the  power  to  compare  her 
with  others  of  her  sex.  Cecilia 
was  not  handsome,  and  she  knew 
it:  she,  however,  possessed  graces 
often  more  attractive  than  mere 
beauty,  but  this  she  did  not  know. 
Naturally  modest  and  humble,  she 
estimated  herself  in  all  respects 
below  her  deserts;  and  when  she 
thought  of  all  that  nature  had  done 
for  Augustus,  she  could  not  help 
fearing  that  he  would  be  disgusted 


AUGUSTUS   AND   CECILIA, 


143 


with  her  want  of  those  personal 
charms,  which  he  himself  so  emi- 
nently possessed. 

She  could  not  conceal  these  ap- 
prehensions from  her  lover,  who 
tried  every  argument  that  affec- 
tion could  suggest  to  banish  them, 
but  in  vain.  He  even  offered  to 
give  up  the  chance  of  gaining  the 
blessing  of  sight,  but  this  Cecilia 
would  not  listen  to.  "  No,  my  dear 
Augustus," cried  she:  "all  I  can, or 
all  I  ought  to  ask,  is,  that3'ou  will 
deal  with  me  sincerely.  If,  when 
you  have  seen  how  homely  I  am 
in  comparison  with  others,  your 
heart  should  revolt  from  our  in- 
tended union*  do  not  conceal 
from  meyour  change  of  sentiment : 
I  could  resign  you  a  thousand 
times  more  readily,  than  I  could 
bear  the  thought  of  beintr  an  ob- 
stacle  to  your  happiness." — "  Talk 
not  thus,  my  dear  apprehensive 
Cecilia,"  said  Augustus;  "you  can 
never  be  an  obstacle  to  that  hap- 
piness which  you,  and  you  alone, 
can  form." 

The  operation  was  crowned  with 
success;  Augustus  recovered  his 
sight,  and  for  some  days  he  seem- 
ed to  exist  in  a  delirium  of  plea- 
sure. Astonished  and  enchanted 
with  the  different  objects  which 
he  saw,  Cecilia  was  still  the  one 
who  interested  him  the  most ;  it 
was  from  her  that  he  sought  an 
explanation  of  all  he  wanted  to 
know ;  in  short,  without  her  he 
would  not  enjoy  even  his  new- 
found pleasures.  The  apprehen- 
sions of  Cecilia  were  lulled  to 
sleep,  and  she  began  to  listen  to 
his  pleadings  for  an  early  day, 
when  a  trifling  incident  destroyed 
her  hopes  of  happiness. 

They  met  at  an  evening  party  a 


young  lady  whose  charms  were 
then  the  theme  of  universal  admi- 
ration; the  moment  Augustus  saw 
her,  he  exclaimed,  "  How  beauti- 
ful!" The  exclamation  pierced  the 
heart  of  Cecilia:  it  was  not  a  mean 
jealousy  of  superior  attractions 
which  seized  her ;  it  was  a  fear 
that  the  charms,  which  she  herself 
acknowledged  to  be  transcendent, 
had  robbed  her  of  the  heart  of 
Augustus:  never  before  had  he 
expressed  himself  in  such  a  tone 
of  rapture;  his  eyes  during  the 
whole  evening  followed  the  lovely 
stranger,  and  he  returned  home 
pensive  and  abstracted. 

No  sleep  visited  that  night  the 
eyes  of  Cecilia;  the  exclamation 
of  Augustus,  and  the  tone  in  which 
it  was  delivered,  haunted  her  in- 
cessantly. She  watched  him  close- 
ly the  following  day;  she  saw,  or 
fancied  she  saw,  that  his  thoughts 
appeared  occupied,  and  that  his 
manner  to  herself  was  changed.  In 
a  few  days  she  learned  that  he 
visited  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  the  mother  of  the  young 
beauty;  and  from  that  moment  she 
felt  convinced  that  she  had  lost  his 
heart* 

This  blow  was  more  than  she 
could  support:  from  the  first 
dawn  of  reason,  he  had  been  the 
object  dearest  to  her  in  the  world, 
and  the  habit  of  being  constantly 
together  had  rendered  his  society 
a  want- which  she  could  not  sup- 
ply :  true,  she  knew  that  honour 
and  conscience  would  not  permit 
him  to  desert  her;  but  could  she 
bear  the  thought  of  accepting  his 
hand  unaccompanied  by  his  heart  ? 
No;  she  felt  that,  to  secure  his  hap- 
piness, she  must  resign  hiro  ;  and 
this  cruel  thought  preyed  upon 
U    2 


144 


AUGUSTUS    AND    CECILIA. 


her  mind,  and  by  degrees  poisoned 
the  springs  of  life. 

The  parents  of  Augustus  were 
surprised  and  offended  at  finding 
that  he  no  longer  urged  his  union 
with  Cecilia;  his  father  spoke  to 
him  upon  the  subject.  Augustus 
had  till  then  striven  to  disguise 
from  himself  his  passion  for  Miss 
Copeland,  but  his  father's  remon- 
strance forced  him  to  open  his 
eyes.  The  conflict  in  his  mind  was 
severe,  but  principle  triumphed. 
He  hastened  to  beg  that  Cecilia 
would  name  the  day  for  the  con- 
summation of  his  happiness.  She 
evaded  complying  with  his  request, 
and  though  he  complained  of  her 
cruelty,  she  read  but  too  truly  in 
his  countenance  the  joy  that  he 
felt  at  her  refusal.  Only  hearts 
tender  and  faithful  as  her  own 
can  conceive  the  shock  which 
this  annihilation  of  all  her  hopes 
gave  her.  From  that  hour  she 
drooped,  and  it  soon  become  evi- 
dent that  she  was  hastening  to  the 
grave.  Her  parents  and  Augustus 
were  almost  distracted  at  her  situ- 
ation, though  wholly  unsuspicious 
of  its  cause.  The  physicians 
urged  her  to  try  the  effects  of  a 
milder  climate;  but  this,  notwith- 
standing the  entreaties  of  .  her 
friends,  she  steadily  refused,  on  the 
plea,  that  she  was  convinced,  from 
internal  evidence,  no  benefit  would 
accrue  to  her  health  from  the 
change. 

One  evening  when  Augustus 
called,  he  found  her  apparently 
much  better,  and  this  favourable 
change  induced  him  to  urge  the 
experiment  of  travelling :  for 
some  time  she. evaded  a  reply,  but 
when  she  could  no  longer  do  so, 
she  begged  he  would  not  make  a 
request,  with  which  it  was  impos- 


sible for  her  to  comply.  Hurt  afe 
the  determined  air  with  which 
these  words  were  pronounced,  Au- 
gustus replied  warmly,  "Till  now, 
Cecilia,  I  thought  you  loved  me:  I 
have  deceived  myself;  for  if  you 
did,  you  would  not  refuse  to  try  to 
live  for  my  sake."  Overcome  by 
these  words,  she  answered,  in  a  flat- 
tering tone,  "  Why  should  I  wish 
to  live,  when,  if  I  did,  I  could  not 
make  you  happy  ?" 

The  truth  flashed  in  a  moment 
upon  the  mind  of  Augustus;  he 
beheld  her  before  him  linking  into 
the  grave,the  uncomplainingvictim 
of  his  involuntary  perfidy.  No  lan- 
guage can  paint  the  agony  which 
this  sad  conviction  gave  him:  he 
threw  himself  at  her  feet;  he  called 
heaven  and  earth  to  witness,  that 
he  abjured  from  that  moment 
every  sentiment  inimical  to  her 
happiness;  that  his  whole  heart 
was  hers,  and  that  in  life  or  death 
he  would  be  hers  alone. 

His  looks,  his  tones  told  Cecilia 
that  she  was  not  deceived  ;  a  ray  of 
joy  and  hope  lighted  up  her 
countenance.  She  extended  her 
hand.  "  O  Augustus,"  cried  she, 
"  this  moment  overpays  all  I  I  am 
happy'."  Augustus  sprang  to  clasp 
her  to  his  heart;  she  sank  a  lifeless 
corpse  into  his  arms:  the  sudden 
burst  of  rapture  had  released  her 
pure  spirit,  and  itwas  goneforever. 
Augustus  still  survives:  he  re- 
ligiously kept  his  promise;  no 
other  woman  has  replaced  Cecilia 
in  his  heart  ;  her  image  is  ever 
present  with  him,  and  often  and 
deeply  does  he  regret,  that  by 
giving  way  to  a  sentiment  which 
conscience  and  gratitude  ought  to 
have  checked,  he  caused  the  death 
of  her  whose  life  had  been  spent 
in  acts  of  love  to  him. 


145 


FOOTE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  "PATRON." 


It  may  not  be  un amusing  to 
some  of  our  readers  to  see  Foote's 
own  description  of  his  comedy, 
called  "  The  Patron,"  produced 
at  the  Hay  market  in  1764.  It  has 
never  been  printed  in  his  works, 
which  renders  the  statement  of  the 
plot  and  the  design  the  more  cu- 
rious.   ■ 

Account  of  "  The  Patron,"  a  new 
Corned;/,  of  three,  acts,  written  by  | 
I\lr.  Foote,  and  now  performing  at  j 
the  Little  Theatre  in  the  Hay  mar- 
ket. 

PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA. 


Bever, 
His  Friend, 
Rust, 

Puff, 

Dactyl, 

Sir  Roger  Dowla, 
Sir  Thos.  Lofty  and 
Sir  Peter  Peppe 
Stay  tape, 


1     X 

rpot,   ) 


Mr.  Death. 
Mr.  Davis. 

Mr.  Weston. 
Mr.  Hayes. 
Mr.  Granger. 

Mr.  Palmer. 

Mr.  Foute. 

Mr.  Brown, 

Mr.  Parsons 
&  Mr.  Lewis. 

Mrs.  Grander. 


Servants, 

Juliette, 

This  piece  opens  with  a  conver- 
sation between  Bever  and  his 
friend  about  Sir  Thomas  Lofty,  a 
pretended  patron  of  all  the  polite 
arts,  but  at  the  bottom  a  man  of 
intolerable  vanity  and  ignorance. 
Bever  is  a  young  fellow  lately  ar- 
rived from  Oxford,  and  recom- 
mended by  his  father  to  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Sir  Thomas,,  as  the 
properest  means  of  initiating  him 
into  the  republic  of  letters;  an  ho- 
nour of  which  the  young  gentle- 
man is  supposed  to  be  not  a  little 
ambitious.  His  visits  at  Sir  Tho- 
mas's are  attended  with  the  loss  of 
his  heart,  which  Juliette,  the 
knight's  niece,  captivates  in  a  short 


time  ;  but  in  return  she  makes  him 
a  present  of  her  own,  and  takes 
every  method  she  can  to  give  him 
her  hand  into  the  bargain.  To  ef- 
fect this,  however,  she  has  one 
considerable  difficulty  to  surmount ; 
her  uncle,  upon  whom  her  whole 
dependence  is,  having  promised 
her  to  Mr.  Rust,  a  celebrated  anti- 
quarian. 

The  conversation  between  Bever 
and  his  friend  is  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  Sir  Peter  Pep- 
perpot,  a  West  Indian  of  great 
fortune,  who  is  going  to  feast  on  a 
delicious  barbecue,  and  is  rating 
a  couple  of  negroes  by  whom  he  is 
attended,  for  neglecting  to  carry 
his  bottle  of  cayenne. 

This  gentleman  is  also  a  pre- 
tended patron  of  the  arts;  but  ne- 
vertheless seems  more  solicitous 
about  the  preservation  of  the  body 
than  the  improvement  of  the  mind, 
his  whole  discourse  turning  upon 
the  excellence  of  turtle;  and  the 
last  fleet  having  brought  him  five, 
he  tells  us,  that  he  disposed  of  two 
at  Cornhill,  sept  a  third  to  Al- 
mack's;  and  the  remaining  two 
being  unhealthy,  he  packed  them 
off  to  his  borough  in  Yorkshire. 
"  The  last  indeed,"  says  he,  "  I 


smuggled,  for  the  unconscionable 
rascal  of  a  stage-driver  used  to 
charge  me  five  pounds  for  the  car- 
riage; but  my  coachman  havingoc- 
casion  to  go  itv.o  the  country,  he 
clapped  a  capuchin  upon  the  tur- 
tle, and  darned  it  down  for  thirty 
shillings  as  an  inside  passenger: 
the  frolic,  however,  was  near  prov- 
ing fatal,  for  as  Betty,  the  bar-maid 
at  Hatfield,  thrust  her  head  into 
the  coach  to  know  what  the  compa- 


146 


FOOTL  S   ACCOUNT   OF    HIS   "  PATRON.' 


ny  chose  for  breakfast,  the  turtle 
snapped  her  by  the  nose,  and  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
they  could  disengage  her."  Sir 
Peter  farther  tells  them,  that  his 
constituents  are  such  connoisseurs 
in  turtle,  that  they  can  distinguish 
the  pash  from  the  pee,  and  leaves 
them  to  judge  by  the  consumption 
how  universally  it  is  esteemed:  six 
pounds  being,  according  to  him, 
the  stint  of  an  alderman  ;  five  the 
allowance  of  his  wife ;  and  the  may- 
or, the  parson,  and  the  recorder 
being  indulged  without  limitation. 

Sir  Peter  has  no  sooner  retired, 
than  Bever  and  his  friend  are 
again  interrupted  by  a  quarrel  be- 
tween Dactyl  a  poet,  and  Puff  a 
publisher;  owing  to  the  latter  hav- 
ing refused  to  purchase  a  copy  of 
Dactyl's,  which  is  all  praise  and 
panegyric.  In  this  altercation,  the 
poet  and  publisher  mutually  recri- 
minate. The  bard  puts  Puff  in 
mind,  that  till  he  took  notice  of 
him,  "  his  shop  was  nothing  but  a 
shed  in  Moorfields;  his  kitchen  a 
pan  of  charcoal,  and  his  bed  under 
the  counter:"  to  which  the  other 
replies,  by  threatening  to  restrain 
his  hand,  and  declaring  that  he 
would  give  no  more  beef  and  car- 
rots of  a  morning. 

By  Juliette's  advice,  Mr.  Bever 
had  flattered  Sir  Thomas  so  suc- 
cessfully, that  the  knight  at  last 
professes  the  greatest  friendship 
imaginable  for  him,  and  informs 
him  of  what  he  calls  the  greatest 
secret  of  his  life;  begging  at  the 
same  time  Mr.  Bever's  assistance, 
as  the  strongest  mark  of  attach- 
mentand  esteem.  Sir  Thomas  had 
it  seems  written  a  play,  which  was 
to  be  acted  that  night,  under  the 


title  of  "  Robinson   Crusoe,"  but 
had  transacted  every  thing  with  so 
much  serecy,  that  nobody  suspect- 
ed him  for  the  author.     The  ma- 
nager,  however,  of    Drury-lane, 
where  he  says  it  is  to  be  performed, 
hearing  thatevery  anonymous  pro- 
duction was  placed  to  his  own  ac- 
count, insisted  upon,  and  obtained 
a  positive  promise  from  Sir  Tho- 
mas, that  he  should  know  thepoet's 
name  before  the  curtain  drew  up. 
Sir  Thomas's  very  vanity  making 
him  rather  apprehensive  about  the 
success  of  his  piece,  he  determin- 
ed to  make  Mr.  Bever  pass  for  the 
author,  that  so,  if  it  happened  to 
fail,    the    whole    disgrace   should 
be  laid  at  that  gentleman's  door; 
knowing  that  if  it  was  well  receiv- 
ed, nothing  would  be  easier  than 
to  whisper  the  truth,  and  get  the 
whole  reputation  transferred  to  his 
own.     Urged  by  this   motive,  he 
entreats    Mr.  Bever  would  oblige 
him  by  an  acquiescence,  with  which 
our  young  lover,  after  a  consider- 
able struggle  within  himself,  com- 
plies.     Unhappily  for    the    poor 
knight,  the  play  is  damned  before 
the  end  of  the  third  act.     Dactyl, 
Puff,  and  Rust,  whom  he  had  sent 
to  support  it,  very  quickly  follow 
his  servants  with  an  account  of  its 
fate;  nor  is  Bever  long  after  them, 
but  comes  back  fired  with  rage  and 
indignation,  to  make  Sir  Thomas 
take  the  scandal  of  the  play  on  him- 
self.    In  vain  our  patron  begs,  ar- 
gues, remonstrates,  sooths;  Bever 
tells  him   he  should   be  gibbeted 
down  to  all  posterity,  with  the  au- 
thor of  Love  in  a  hollow  Tree,  and 
asks  if  he  imagined    any   family 
would  receive  him  after  so  public  a 
disgrace.  The  knight  instantly  an- 


HUMAN    NATURE    IS    NUT    SO    BAD    AFTER    ALL. 


147 


swers  he  would  ;  upon  which  Be- 
ver  directly  demands  bis  niece,  as 
a  recompence  for  keeping  the  se- 
cret, and  bearing  the  infamy  of  the 
piece.      Sir  Thomas  consents,  and 


joining  their  hands,  says  to  Juli- 
ette, 

"  Here,  take  his  hand  —  I  owe  hiin  much — I 

know  it, 
And   make  the  man,  although    I   damn   the 

poet." 


HUMAN  NATURE  IS  NOT  SO  BAD  AFTER  ALL. 

all  communication  with  them. 


"  I  am  sick  of  the  world,  or  ra- 
ther of  its  inhabitants,"  said  Mr. 
Villiers  one  morning,  after  he  had 
just  paid  a  large  gaming  debt, 
which  he  suspected  had  been  un- 
fairly won.  "  Man  is  a  compound 
of  folly  and  villany ;  and  woman — 
woman  is ."  He  paused  ab- 
ruptly, but  with  a  look  which  ex- 
pressed his  feelings  more  strongly 
than  the  bitterest  philippic  upon 
the  lovely  sex  could  have  done. 

While  Villiers  was  thus  anathe- 
matizing mankind,  it  never  occur- 
red to  him,  that  in  his  transactions 
with  them,  he  had  been  used  just 
as  he  deserved.  He  always  select- 
ed his  companions  either  for  the 
estimation  they  were  held  in  by 
the  world,  or  because  their  man- 
ners happened  to  please  him.  As 
to  their  moral  characters,  he  had 
never  taken  the  trouble  to  scruti- 
nize them.     It  is   not  wonderful, 


He 


parted  with  his  town  establishment, 
and  retired  to  a  small  estate  which 
he  had  in  Wales,  where  he  deter- 
mined to  pass  the  remainder  of  his 
days  in  seclusion,  and  to  seek  only 
those  pleasures  which  books  and 
the  contemplation  of  the  beauties 
of  nature  could  afford  him. 

As  he  had  never  lived  in  the 
country,  and  had  naturally  a  lively 
imagination  and  a  poetical  turn, 
he  was  at  first  delighted  with  his 
solitude,  and  exulted  not  a  little 
in  the  proud  consciousness  that  lie 
was  sufficient  to  himself;  but  by 
degrees  he  began  to  feel  a  great 
want  of  somebody  to  whom  he 
could  dilate  upon  the  pleasures  of 
solitude;  his  relish  for  the  beauties 
of  nature  became  less  lively,  and 
his  favourite  authors  lost  by  repe- 
tition the  power  the}'  had  at  first 
possessed    of    fixing  his  attention 


therefore,  that  his  associates  should     and  enlivening  his  hours:  in  short, 


have  been  frivolous  and  unprinci- 
pled; but  it  is  probable  that  he 
would  not  speedily  have  discovered 
they  were  so,  had  not  a  friend,  to 
whom  he  lent  a  large  sum  of  mo- 
ney, eloped  with  a  mistress,  who, 
after  sacrificing  virtue  and  reputa- 
tion to  her  penchant  for  Villiers, 
sacrificed  him  also  to  her  inclina- 
tion for  a  newer  lover. 

Upon  such  grounds,  and  with 
such  experience  of  human  nature, 
Villiers  condemned  mankind  in 
the  lump,  and  determined  to  avoid 


for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  be- 
came a  prey  to  lassitude. 

As  he  was  strolling  one  day  in  a 
melancholy  mood,  he  met  an  old 
harper  who  was  walking  along  at  a 
brisk  pace:  the  lively  expression 
of  happiness  in  his  countenance 
caught  the  attention  of  Villiers, 
and  as  the  old  man  saluted  him  re- 
spectfully in  passing,  he  put  some 
silver  into  his  hand,  and  turning 
with  him,  began  to  ask  some  ques- 
tions n'oout  his  way  of  life.  The 
old  manj  who  was  very  sensible  and 


148 


HUMAN    NATURK    IS   NOT    SO    HAD    AFTFR    ALL. 


intelligent,  seemed  happy  in  his 
lot;  and  described  with  much  vi- 
vacity, the  pleasures  of  an  iti- 
nerant way  of  life.  The  harper's 
intercourse  with  mankind  had  dis- 
posed his  mind  favourably  towards 
them,  and  he  painted  in  such  glow- 
ing colours  the  kindness  and  hu- 
manity which  he  always  experi- 
enced from  the  lower  classes,  that 
Villiers  began  to  conceive  the  idea 
of  varying  his  monotonous  exist- 
ence by  making  a  little  itinerant 
excursion. 

He  walked  home  ruminating 
upon  a  plan,  which,  he  thought, 
might  afford  him  a  few  days'  amuse- 
ment, and,  at  the  same  time,  give 
him  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining 
whether  the  poor  were  as  selfish 
and  as  hard-hearted  as  the  rich. 

As  he  could  play  very  well  upon 
the  flute,  he  determined  to  make 
an  excursion  as  an  itinerant  musi- 
cian. "  In  this  character,"  thought 
he,  "  I  shall  meet  at  least  with  a  lit- 
tle sincerity.  My  fine  friends  al- 
ways protested,  that  my  perform- 
ance was  exquisite;  let  us  see  now 
whether  it  will  be  thought  worth  a 
supper  and  a  bed."  Accordingly, 
the  next  morning  he  quitted  his 
house,  and  rode  to  a  small  town 
at  some  distance  from  it,  where  he 
purchased  a  dress  fit  for  his  frolic, 
and  leaving  his  horse  at  an  inn,  he 
sallied  forth,  with  his  flute  in  his 
pocket,  in  quest  of  adventures. 

His  journey  commenced  auspi- 
ciously; the  day  was  extremely  fine, 
and  the  country  through  which  he 
wandered  so  beautiful,  that  he 
proceeded  with  a  light  heart  for 
several  hours;  but  just  as  exercise 
had  given  him  an  appetite,  and  he 
began  to  look  round  in  vain  for  a 
cottage  or  a  public-house,  the  wea- 


ther changed,  the  rain  poured  in 
torrents,  and  our  adventurer  was 
obliged  to  plod  his  weary  way  till 
towards  the  close  of  the  evening, 
before  any  human  habitation  met 
his  longing  eyes. 

At  last,  to  his  great  joy,  he  drew 
near  a  small  hamlet;  but  not  being 
disposed  to  walk  a  step  farther 
than  he  needed,  he  stopped  at  a  cot- 
tage which  was  at  some  distance 
from  the  rest,  and  began  to  plajr  a 
sprightly  air.  "  We  don't  want 
music,  good  man,"  said  a  young 
woman  opening  the  cottage-door  ; 
but  at  sight  of  the  dripping  musi- 
cian her  tone  changed.  "  Poor 
soul!"  said  she,  in  a  kind  voice, 
il  you  are  quite  wet ;  come  in  and 
dry  yourself,  but  come  softly,  that 
you  may  not  disturb  my  mother." 

Villiers  did  not  need  a  second 
invitation;  he  followed  her  into  the 
cottage:  there  was  a  very  little  fire, 
but  the  girl  immediately  ran  to  get 
another  log  of  wood,  and  a  young 
man,  who,  on  the  entrance  of  Vil- 
liers, was  seated  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  insisted  upon  our  hero's 
changing  his  coat  for  an  old  jacket, 
and  forced  him  into  the  warm  seat. 

While  Villiers  was  enjoying  with 
the  liveliest  relish  the  comforts  of 
a  good  fire  and  a  warm  room,  a 
middle-aged  woman  came  from  an 
inner  chamber.  "  Mother,"  said 
the  girl,  "  this  poor  man  has  been 
in  all  the  rain,  so  we  brought  him 
in  to  dry  himself." — "  I  warrant 
he  is  hungry  as  well  as  wet,"  said 
the  mother;  "  bring  the  bread  and 
cheese,  child." 

The  nimble  lass  soon  reached  a 
large  brown  loaf  and  a  piece  of 
cheese,  which  she  placed  before 
Villiers,  who  did  not  require  much 
pressing  to  fan  to  with  an  excel- 


HUMAN    NATUItL    IS    NOT    SO    HAD    AFTLK    Al.f.. 


149 


lent  appetite.  Tiie  good  woman 
lamented  that  she  had  no  beer,  but 
Villiers  assured  her  he  preferred 
the  pure  spring  water  which  her 
pretty  daughter  presented  to  him; 
and  alter  he  had  made  a  delicious 
though  homely  repast,  be  began 
to  think  of  paying  for  his  enter- 
tainment, and  took  out  his  flute  to 
play. 

"  At  another  time,"  said  the 
good  woman,  "  this  would  be  a 
great  treat  to  us,  but  just  now  we 
are  in  too  much  trouble  to  think  of 
pleasure." — "  I  am  sorry  to  hear 
that,"  cried  Villiers;  "  I  wish  your 
trouble  was  any  thing  that  I  could 
assist  you  in." — "  Ah!"  cried  the 
poor  woman,  "  no  one  can  assist 
me;  for  I  have  to  deal  with  a  hard- 
hearted creditor,  who  will,  I  am 
afraid,  seize  my  goods  to-morrow 
for  debt." 

"  Mother,"  cried  the  young 
man,  "  he  could  not  do  it  if  you 
would  only  release  me  from  the 
promise  you  forced  me  to  give 
you." 

"  No,  no,  William,"  cried  the 
girl,  "  it  must  not  be  that  way. 
Mother,  I  would  rather  a  thousand 
times  do  what  he  asks,  than  let 
William  go  for  a  soldier." 

"  And  I  would  rather  a  thousand 
times,"  cried  the  mother,  "  let  him 
take  what  I  have,  than  I  would 
suffer  either  of  you  to  make  such  a 
sacrifice." — M  These  poor  chil- 
dren," said  she  to  Villiers,  "  were 
shortly  to  have  been  married,  but 
misfortunes  have  come  upon  us: 
William  can't  get  work,  and  the 
expense  of  a  long  illness  has 
brought  me  very  low.  A  neigh- 
bour, who  had  an  inclination  for  my 
daughter,  lent  me  some  money, 
but  finding  that  I  would  not  en- 

P'vlX.  Nu.LVIL 


deavour  to  make  her  break  with 
William  and  marry  him,  he  threat- 
ens to  seize  my  goods:  but  let  him 
seize  them,  we  shall  still  have  the 
shelter  of  a  roof,  and  Providence 
will  send  us  some  means  of  sup- 
port." 

William  and  Nancy  reiterated 
their  requests  in  vain,  the  good 
mother  was  inflexible.  Villiers, 
who  was  naturally  of  a  humane 
disposition,  was  sensibly  touched 
with  this  scene,  and  his  misan- 
thropy was  not  a  little  shaken  at 
thus  unexpectedly  finding  three 
persons  who  all  gave  striking  proof 
that  they  were  neither  selfish  nor 
unfeeling. 

While  he  was  deliberating  on 
the  best  method  of  assisting  them 
without  betraying  his  rank,  a  gen- 
tle tap  at  the  door  of  the  cottage 
was  followed  by  the  appearance  of 
a  lovely  girl,  apparently  about 
eighteen;  she  was  fashionably  but 
plainly  dressed.  The  cottagers 
started  up  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise;  she  was  beginning  to 
speak,  but  perceiving  Villiers,  she 
motioned  the  good  woman  into  the 
inner  apartment.  They  were  ab- 
sent but  a  few  minutes,  and  imme- 
diately on  their  return  the  fair 
stranger  vanished.  The  cottager 
was  in  tears,  but  they  were  evi- 
dently tears  of  joy.  "  O  my  dear 
children,"  cried  she,  "  let  us  thank 
God,  and  our  blessed  Miss  Emma! 
We  are  out  of  the  power  of  that 
cruel  man !  I  have  his  money 
here." 

"  Is  it  possible!"  exclaimed 
Wrilliam  and  Nancy  in  a  breath. 
"  Has  Miss  Emma  given  you  all 
that?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  mother:  "  the 
dear  child  never  knew  of  our  di9- 


150 


HUMAN    NAT U KM    IS    NOT   SO    F.AD    AFTER   ALL. 


tress  till  yesterday.  She  was  very 
angry  with  me  for  keeping  it  a  se- 
cret from  her  mamma;  hut  after  all 
Mrs.  Barclay  has  done,  how  could 
I  think  of  asking  her?  I  was  al- 
most afraid  to  take  the  money  from 
Miss  Emma,  because  I  know  it  is 
a  great  deal  for  her ;  hut  the  dear 
creature  told  me  I  need  not  be 
fearful,  for  it  was  her  own:  and 
would  you  believe  it,  Nancy  ?  would 
you  think  it,  William?  I  drew  from 
her  at  last,  that  it  is  the  very  money 
that  her  uncle  Davers  has  given 
her  to  buy  >a  dress  for  her  first 
ball." 

"  A  dress  for  her  first  ball  V  re- 
peated Villiers. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  cottager;  "  she 
has  never  been  to  one  yet,  hut  she 
was  to  have  gone  to  the  assize  ball 

at ,  which  will  be  next  week, 

and  her  uncle,  vvhb  is  very  fond 
of  hei\  gave  her  five  guineas  to 
buy  a  dress.  When  she  heard  of 
my  distress,  she  immediately  asked 
her  mother's  leave  to  give  me  the 
money,  and  Mrs.  Barclay  consent- 
ed directly.  Was  it  not  very  good 
of  them  both;  and  Miss  Emma 
particularly,  who  is  so  fond  of 
dancing,  and  who  expected  so 
much  pleasure  at  this  ball  ?" 

"  And  she  shall  have  it,  by  my 
soul  she  shall!"  cried  Villiers  ea- 
gerly. "  You  must  return  her 
money,"  said  he-  to  the  good  wo- 
man, who  stared  at  him  in  silent 
astonishment,  till  he  explained 
that  he  was  merely  disguised  for  a 
frolic,  and  presented  her  with  more 
than  double  the  sum  which  she  had 
just  received  from  the  lovely  Em- 
ma; about  whom  he  felt  a  curiosi- 
ty which  the  good  cottager  had 
great  pleasure  in  gratifying,  for 
no  subject  could  be  so  delightful 


to  her  as  the  praises  of  her  j-oung 
benefactress. 

She  told  him  that  Mrs.  Barclay 
was  a  widow,  and  in  very  moderate 
circumstances.  She  lived  in  a  re- 
tired manner,  and  devoted  herself 
wholly  to  the  education  of  her 
daughter,  who.  was  at  once  her 
comfort  and  her  pride.  Small  as 
her  income  was,  Mrs.  Barclay  con- 
trived to  do  a  great  deal  of  good 
among  the  poor:  her  daughter  in- 
herited her  benevolent  disposition. 
During  the  lon£  illness  of  dame 
Grant,  the  good  woman  of  the  cot- 
tage, she  had  been  much  indebted 
to  the  kindness  of  both;  and  Em- 
ma, in  her  frequent  visits  to  the 
cottage,  conceived  a  liking  to  the 
good  woman  and  her  daughter, 
which  led  her  to  take  a  more  than 
common  interest  in  their  affairs. 

Villiers  passed  the  night  in  the 
cottage;  he  quitted  it  the  next 
morning,  bearing  with  him  the 
blessings  of  its  grateful  inhabit- 
ants, to  whom  he  did  not  reveal  his 
name,  tie  pursued  his  frolic  no 
farther,  but  returned  home  with 
his  thoughts  full  of  what  he  had 
witnessed  in  the  cottage,  and  mis- 
anthrope as  he  fancied  himself, 
he  estimated  the  good  action  of 
Emma  quite  as  high  as  it  merited'. 

"  No  doubt,"  thought  he,  «  she 
will  now  attend  the  ball,  and  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  see  an  unso- 
;/i.i.-Licated  young  creature  for  the 
first  time  at  an  amusement  of  that 
kind."  He  determined  therefore 
to  go  from  mere  curiosity.  "We 
must,  however,  observe,  that  he 
might  have  gratified  his  curiosity 
without  taking  ten  times  more 
pains  with  his  dress  than  he  had 
.  done  in  his  life. 

He  had   not  been   long   in  the 


[7KNA.MKS. 


1.31 


ball-room   before   Emma  e:H 
accompanied  by  Her  mother.     \  il- 
liers  contrived  to  gain   an   intro- 
duction to  them,  and  to  procure 

the  hand  of  Emma,  who  little  sus- 
pected that  her  gallant  and  atten- 
tive  partner    was   the    poor    man 

whom  she  had  hardly  noticed  in 
the  cottage.  He  found  her  man- 
ners as  charming  as  her  face — sim- 
ple, natural,  and  lively.  She  was 
the  very  being  to  attract  and  to 
secure  a  heart  disgusted,  like  that 


of  Villiers,  with  the  glare  and  pre- 
tension so  generally  found  among 
fashionable  female*.    In  a  word,  he 
II  became  convinced  there   was   one 
■  woman  at  least  worth  having,     lie 
was    fortunate    enough    to    obi;. in 
i  her;  and  for  the  credit  of  matrimo- 
ny be  it  recorded,  that  their  union, 
j  which  has  now  lasted  ten  years,  has 
'  converted  him  from  a  defamer  of 
ji  the   sex,  into  an   enthusiastic   ad- 
!  mirer  of  their  virtues. 


ON  SURNAMES. 

N.ames,  called  in  Latin  nomina,  ||  trary.  William,  son  of  Roger  Fitz- 
quasi  notami/ia,  were  first  imposed  I  Valerine,  in  the  time  of  King 
for  the  distinction  of  persons,  i  Henry  I.  being  born  in  the  castle 
which  wenowcall  Christian  names ;!  of  Howard  in  Wales,  did  from 
after,  for  difference  of  families,  thence  assume  the  name  of  the 
which  we  call  surnames,  and  have  I  place  of  his  birth,  and  transmitted 
been  especially  respected,  as  that  |  thesame  to  his  posterity.  Edward 
on  which  the  glory  and  credit  of  of  Caernarvon  was  so  called  from 
men  is  grounded,  and  by  which  \  the  placeof  his  nativity  :  so  Thomas 
the  same  is  conveyed  to  the  know-  ,;  of  Brotherton,  from  the  village  in 
ledge  of  posterity ;  and  every  per- i  Yorkshire  wherein  he  was  born; 
son  had  in  the  beginning  one  only  \.  and  John  of  Gaunt,  from  the  city 
proper  name,  as  Adam,  Joseph,  of  Gaunt,  in  Flanders,  where  hi 
&c. 


Camden  observes,  he  never  could 
find  an  hereditary  surname  in  Epg- 
gland  before  the  Conquest:  the 
surnames  in  Doomsday-book  were 
brought  in  by  the  Normans,  who 
not   long  before  had  taken  them, 


was  born. 

The  custom  of  taking  names 
from  towns  and  villages  in  England, 
is  a  sufficient  proof  of  lihe  ancient 
descents  of  those  families  who  are 
still  inhabitants  of  the  same  places. 
Some  took  their  names  from  fheir 


but  they  were  mostly  noted  with  a  I  offices  ;  others  from  forests;  others 
(!..',  as  John  deBabington,  Walter  from  woods;  others  from  hills, 
de  Hagget,  Nicholas  de  Yateman,  [\  dales,  trees,  &c;  others  from  fishes. 
&c.  or  Ricardus  filius  Iloberti,  &c.  ji  From  the  alteration  of  names  in 
and  that  they  were  not  settled  early  times,  it  is  that  at  this  day 
among  the  common  people  till  many  families,  who  have  neglected 
about  the  reign  of  King  Edward  II.  |j  to  keep  up  their  pedigrees,  are  at 
Surnames  are  not  from  aire,  but  be-  I  a.  loss  to  account  for  the  similar 
cause  superadded  to  the  Christian  !  bearing  of  arms,  whose  names  are 
name.  Places  anciently  gave  so  widely  different,  while  yet  they 
names  to  persons,  and  not  the  con-     might  all  originally  be  descended 

''  X    2 


\r& 


THR    GENEROUS    FMKNDi-. 


from  one  and  the  same  common  an- 
cestor. Little,  for  instance,  would 
any  one  think  to  look  for  the  fami- 
ly and  arms  of  Botteville  in  those 
of  the  present  Lord  Weymouth  ; 
and  this  only,  because  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  IV.  John  de  Botteville 
resided  at  one  of  the  inns  of  court, 


and  from  thence  was  named  John 
of  Th'Inne  (Thynne) ;  and  as  lit- 
tle would  he  suspect,  that  the  poor 
deserted  and  exposed  infant  at 
Newark  -  upon  -Trent,  commonly 
called  Tom  among  us,  should  after- 
wards be  metamorphosed  into  the 
great  Dr.  Thomas  Magnus. 


THE  GENEROUS  FRIENDS. 

(From  the  Spanish.) 
(Continued  from  page  7.) 


"  As  your  majesty  has  then  com- 
manded   me,  I    cannot  refuse  to 
disclose  the  whole  of  my  thoughts 
to  you.     I  am  determined  to  re- 
venge the  gross  insult  I  have  re- 
ceived, and  I  only  wait  an  opportu- 
nity to  carry  my  intentions  into 
execution.     Every    man    who    is 
born  a  Spaniard  is  responsible  for 
the  honour  of  his  lineage  and  of 
his  country.  Your  majesty  is  doubt- 
less well  acquainted  with  the  inju- 
ry I  have  received,  and  I  am  re- 
solved to  put  the  prince  to  death 
in  a  manner  equivalent  to  the  of- 
fence.    I  will  either  sheathe  my 
sword  in  his  bosom,   or  blow  out 
his  brains  with  a  pistol.     This  is  my 
determination." — "  This  revenge 
appears  to  me  to  be  most  severe," 
replied  the  king;  "  but  perhaps  it 
is  excusable,  considering  the  enor- 
mity of  the  injury  which  the  prince 
has  done  you.     I  am  aware  that  he 
merits  the  punishment  which  you 
have  prepared  for  him;  but  sus- 
pend it  for  a  short  time;  do  not  be 
too  hasty  in  its  execution.     All  I 
have  to  request  is,  that  you  will 


you  force  me  to  divulge  my  secret? 
What  plan  can  possibly  be  imagined 
which  is  calculated  to  give  me  sa- 
tisfaction ?" — "  If,"  answered  the 
king,  "  I  do  not  find  one  which 
will  give  satisfaction  to  both,  you 
will  be  at  liberty  to  accomplish 
that  which  you  at  first  suggested  to 
me.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  am  ca- 
pable of  abusing  the  confidence 
that  you  have  placed  in  me.  Of 
this  you  may  rest  satisfied,  that 
whatever  may  be  the  result,  I  will 
not  sacrifice  your  honour." 

I  went  away,  reflecting  with  my- 
self in  what  manner  the  king  would 
endeavour  to  bring  about  an  ami- 
cable settlement  of  the  affair.  His 
majesty's  first  object  was  to  hold 
a  conference  with  my  enemy,  and 
he  said  to  him,  "  Radrivil,  you 
have  offended  Don  Pompeyo  de 
Castro;  are  you  not  aware  that  he 
is  a  gentleman  of  rank  and  ho- 
nour, whom  I  love,  and  who  has 
served  me  well?  You  ought  to  give 
him  satisfaction." — "  Sir,"  replied 
the  prince,  "  if  he  demands  it,  I 
am  perfectly  ready  to  give  him  sa« 


give  me  time  to  reflect,  and  to  dis-  tisfaction  with  my  sword." — "  The 
cover  some  plan  by  which  satis-  satisfaction  you  ought  to  give 
faction  will  be  given  to  both." — f;  should  be  very  different,"  said  the 
*<  Ah, sir!"  I  exclaimed,  "  why  did  (J  king.     "  A   noble  Spaniard  knows 


THIS    (J  K^  FRO  US    i-Rll'NDS. 


153 


too  well  the  laws  of  duellists  to  de- 
mand an  honourable  combat  with 
a  coward  and  an  assassin.  I  can 
give  you  no  other  name;  nor  can 
you  eradicate  the  indecency  of 
such  a  villanous  action,  unless 
you  offer  to  your  enemy  a  stick 
with  your  own  hand,  to  be  laid 
across  3'our  shoulders." — "  Holy- 
God  !"  exclaimed  my  enemy, "  can 
your  majesty  be  in  earnest?  Do  you 
require  that  a  man  of  my  rank 
should  humble  himself  before  an 
inferior,  and  bear  blows  with  pati- 
ence from  himr" — "  Your  passion 
carries  you  beyond  my  meaning," 
replied  the  king.  "  I  will  oblige 
Don  Pompeyo  to  give  me  his  ho- 
nour that  he  will  not  take  the  stick. 
All  I  require  is,  that  in  offering 
the  stick  you  should  ask  pardon 
for  the  offence  you  have  given  to 
him."--"  Sir,"  answered  the  prince, 
H  this  is  requiring  too  much  from 
me.  I  had  much  rather  be  expos- 
ed to  the  artful  machinations  of  my 
enemy's  resentment." — M  Your  life 
is  precious  to  me,"  said  the  king, 
"  and  I  am  desirous  to  avert  the 
melancholy  consequences  of  this 
affair:  I  wish  to  do  you  a  benefit. 
I  shall  be  the  sole  witness  of  this 
satisfaction,  which  I  absolutely 
command  you  to  give  to  this  in- 
jured Spaniard." 

It  required  all  the  persuasive 
powers  of  the  king  to  induce  Rad- 
rivil  to  subject  himself  to  such  an 
humiliation  :  at  length,  however, 
he  succeeded.  Immediately-  the 
king  called  me  to  his  presence:  he 
related  to  me  the  conversation 
which  had  passed,  and  asked  me 
whether  I  should  be  contented 
with  this  satisfaction.  "  I  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  and  gave  my 
word  that  I  would  offer  no  offensive 


language,  and  that  I  woidd  not 
take  the  stick  that  would  be  offered 
to  me."  Matters  being  thusarranjr- 
ed,  it  was  agreed  that  I  and  my 
enemy  should  meet  the  king  on  a 
certain  day  at  a  particular  hour. 
Being  assembled  in  the  king's 
closet,  his  majesty  said  to  the 
prince,  "  Now,  sir,  acknowledge 
your  error,  and  sue  for  pardon." 
The  prince  obeyed,  and  offered 
me  the  baton.  "  Take  the  stick, 
Don  Pompeyo,"  said  the  king 
to  me,  "  and  do  not  be  prevented 
by  my  presence  from  taking  re- 
venge for  your  injured  honour. 
Recollect,  however,  that  you  have 
already  given  me  your  word  that 
you  would  not  maltreat  the  prince.'* 
"  No,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  it  is  enough 
that  he  has  rendered  himself  liable 
toreceive  blows  from  me.  A  Spani- 
ard requires  no  other  satisfaction." 
— "  Very  well,"  replied  the  king, 
"  now  that  you  have  received  satis- 
faction, you  are  both  at  liberty  to 
take  that  course  which  gentlemen 
on  such  occasions  usually  pursue. 
Measure  your  swords  to  termi- 
nate the  affair." — "  This  is  what  I 
have  anxiously  desired,"  said  the 
prince,  in  an  altered  tone  and 
flurried  manner;  for  this  alone  is 
capable  of  consoling  me  for  the 
disgrace  which  I  have  suffered." 

Having  said  these  words,  he  re- 
tired, bursting  with  anger  and  con- 
fusion, and  two  hours  afterwards 
he  sent  me  a  challenge.  I  hasten- 
ed to  the  spot,  and  I  found  him 
well  prepared  to  receive  me.  He 
was  about  45  years  of  a;>e,  and  was 
wanting  neither  in  skill  nor  courage. 
It  might  be  said  with  truth,  that  it 
was  an  equal  match  between  us. 
"  Come  on,  Don  Pompeyo,"  he 
said,  "  and    let  us  terminate  cur 


154 


TUT.    GKNKKOUS    FIUE'NI>S. 


differences.  Both  of  us  have  cause 
to  desire  it,  you  for  the  treatment 
you  have  received,  and  I  for  the 
humiliation  I  have  suffered."  Hav- 
ing said  this,  he  drew  his  sword 
from  the  scabbard  with  so  much 
quickness  as  to  afford  me  no  time 
for  reply.  He  gave  me  two  or 
three  thrusts  in  less  than  a  second, 
which,  however,  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  parry.  My  antagonist 
soon  discovered  that  he  was  en- 
gaged with  a  man  as  dexterous  as 
himself  in  the  art  of  duelling.  The 
result  was  dubious,  when  the  prince 
stumbled  by  accident  in  the  act  of 
defending  himself,  and  fell  upon 
his  back.  Immediately  I  saw  him 
upon  the  ground  I  requested  him 
to  rise.  "  Why  do  }-ou  grant  me 
this  pardon  r"  he  asked.  "  This 
unexpected  generosity  cuts  me  to 
the  heart." — "  If  I  took  advantage 
of  your  situation,"  I  said,  "  my 
glory  would  be  sullied.  The  noble 
heart  of  a  Spaniard  disdains  such 
cowardice.  Rise,  and  let  us  conti- 
nue the  contest." 

"  No,  Don  Pompeyo,"  he  cried, 
"  after  so  noble  an  action,  I  cannot 
lift  my  sword  against  you.  What 
would  the  world  say  of  me  if  I 
took  advantage  of  such  generosity  ? 
I  should  be  justly  branded' for  a 
coward  if  I  took  away  the  life  of 
him  who  could  have  slain  me*  I 
cannot,  wiil  not  fight  against  you. 
Your  generous  conduct  has  con- 
verted into  brotherly  affection  the 
furious  passions  which  agitated  my 
heart.  Don  Pompeyo,  let  us  hence- 
forth be  united;  let  us  always  be 
friends."— "Ah!  sir,"  I  exclaimed, 
"with  what  delight  do  I  receive 
an  offer  so  acceptable  !  From  this 
moment  I  swear  an  eternal  friend- 
ship, and  to  give  you  now  a  con- 


clusive proof  of  my  affection,  I 
swear  never  again  to  set  my  foot  in 
the  house  of  Dona  Hortensia." — 
"  I  will  not  suffer  the  promise,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  desire  myself  to  cede  all 
claim  to  that  lady.  It  is  more 
reasonable  that  I  should  abandon 
her  than  you,  whose  affection  for 
her  is  greater  than  mine." — "  No, 
no,"  I  interrupted,  "you  love  her, 
and  I  wish  to  sacrifice  all  my  incli- 
nations to  your  tranquillity  and 
repose." — "  O  Spaniard  !  full  of 
noble  and  generous  feeling,"  ex- 
claimed the  transported  Radrivil, 
and  clasped  me  in  his  arms,  "your 
nobleness  of  sentiment  has  en- 
chanted me  !  Oh,  what  remorse 
do  I  feel  at  this  moment!  what 
grief  and  shame  does  that  villan- 
ous  action  towards  you  present  to 
my  mind!  The  pardon  which  I 
sued  for  before  the  king  now  ap- 
pears to  me  insufficient  to  give 
you  satisfaction,  and  I  am  desirous 
of  shewing  the  world  the  respect 
I  have  for  you.  I  have  a  niece,  of 
whose  hand  I  have  the  absolute 
disposal ;  I  offer  lier  to  you  in  inar- 
riage.  She  has  a  large  fortune,  is 
not  more  than  15  years  of  age,  and 
she  is  more  beautiful  than  young." 
I  returned  the  warmest  thanks  to 
the  prince  which  the  honour  of 
being  allied  to  his  family  inspired, 
and  a  few  days  afterwards  I  was 
married  to  his  niece.  All  the 
court  congratulated  the  prince 
that  he  had  made  the  fortune  of  a 
gentleman  whom  he  had  previously 
covered  with  ignomin}';  and  my 
friends  were  rejoiced  at  the  happy 
result  of  an  affair  which  promised 
so  melancholy  a  termination.  At 
this  very  moment  I  am  living  in 
peace  and  happiness  at  Warsaw. 
My  wife  loves  me,  and  I  am  equal- 


ANSWER   TO   '"   SbMPRONIA    ON    NEEDLE-WORK. 


155 


]y  fond  of  her.     Her  uncle  gives 
n:e  every  day  fresh  proofs  of  his  re- 
spectfor  me  ;  and  I  can  assure  you,  | 
without  ostentation,  that  I  am  up- 


on the  very  hest  terms  with  his  ma- 
jesty. As  a  proof  of  his  esteem, 
he  has  entrusted  me  with  a  most 
important  negociation  at  Madrid. 


ANSWER  TO  "  SEMPRON 
.'/.  Editor, 

A  CORRESPONDENT  of  yours, 

who  signs  herself  "Sempronia,"  has, 

in  your  last  Number,  endeavour- 
ed, with  more  ingenuity  I  think 
than  truth,  to  deter  your  fair  read- 
ers wholly  from  the  exercise  of  the 
needle,  on  the  double,  or  rather 
triple,  ground  of  its  being  detri- 
mental to  their  mental  improve- 
ment, and  to  their  domestic  hap- 
piness ;  and  also  because,  by  prac- 
tising it,  they  deprive  those  fe- 
males who  depend  on  their  indus- 
try for  a  livelihood  of  a  part  of 
their  subsistence. 

With  your  leave,  Mr.  Editor,  we 
will  examine  how  far  these  charges 
are  just.  I  apprehend  that  no 
person,  who  considers  the  subject 
impartially,  will  say,  that  a  mode- 
rate use  of  the  needle  can  lie  de- 
trimental to  mental  improvement. 
A  young  woman  cannot  spend  her 
whole  time  either  in  the  practice 
of  accomplishments,  or  the  ac- 
quirement of  knowledge ;  that  por- 
tion of  it  for  which  she  has  no  os- 
tensible employment,  may  not  on- 
ly be  innocently  but  even  profit- 
ably devoted  to  her  needle:  while 
her  fingers  are  employed  her  mind 
need  not  be  idle  ;  she  may  amuse 
herself  with  reflecting  upon  what 
she  has  read  ;  she  may  retrace  the 
lessons  of  the  moralist  or  the  phi- 
losopher, indulge  in  the  delightful 
visions  of  the  poet,  or  recall  to 
her  memory  a  series  of  historical 
events,  whileshe  plies  the  steel  'oar. 
Should  the  truth  of  this  assertion 


IA  ON  NEEDLE-WORK." 

be  questioned,  I  need  only  app(  a) 
to  any  female  of  a  lively  imagina- 
tion, whether  she  cannot  indulge 
in  whatever  train  of  thought  she 
chooses  while  she  is  employed  in 
any  kind  of  plain  needle-work. 

With  respect  to  the  injury  which 
this  sort  of  employment  does  to 
domestic  happiness  by  unfitting 
women  to  be  the  companions  of 
their  husbands  or  fathers,  I  con- 
ceive this  charge  is  quite  as  un- 
founded as  the  other.  Women  are 
not  necessarily  less  cheerful,  less 
communicative,  less  disposed  to 
converse  on  literary  subjects,  be- 
cause they  are  embroidering  a  frill, 
or  stitching  a  wristband.  I  can  as- 
sert, from  my  own  experience, 
that  conversation  is  not  more  tri- 
fling: or  languid  in  those  houses 
where  the  ladies  of  the  family  work, 
than  in  those  where  they  do  not. 
If  we  look  at  the  female  literary- 
world,  we  shall  find  that  these  la- 
who  were  and  are  esteemed 
its  brightest  ornaments,  did  not 
disdain  the  use  of  the  needle.  Who 
would  think  of  questioning  the 
companionable  talents  of  Mrs. 
Trimmer,  Mrs.  Chap  one,  or  Mrs. 
Carter?  Yet  these  ladies  looked 
upon  needle-work  as  a  necessary 
part  of  female  occupation  :  the  lat- 
ter, who  was  as  simple  and  unpre- 
tending as  she  was  learned,  says  in 
one  of  her  letters,  that  she  was 
making  a  set  of  shirts  at  the  time 
she  was  engaged  in  her  celebrated 
translation  of  Epictetus-. 

Now,  sir,  for    the    last  charge. 


156 


ANSWER    TO    "   SEMPRONIA    ON    NF.F.DLC-WOftK, 


Before  we  are  called  upon  to  con- 
tribute our  mite  towards  the  sub- 
sistence of  others,  we  must  consi- 
der what  we  can  spare  from  the 
immediate  wants  of  our  own  fami- 
ly. This  circumstance  seems  to 
have  entirely  escaped  your  cor- 
respondent, who,  in  her  rage  for 
banishing  needle-work,  makes  no 
allowance  for  the  situation  of  a 
large,  alas !  too  large,  portion  of 
the  community;  I  mean  those  fa- 
milies who  are,  from  the  pressure 
of  the  times,  obliged  to  retrench 
in  every  possible  way.  Can  Sem- 
pronia  maintain,  that  it  is  not  the 
duty  of  the  mistresses  of  such  fa- 
milies to  do  all  they  can  in  the  task 
of  making  their  income  suffice  for 
their  wants  :  she  tells  them  indeed, 
that  instead  of  saving  money,  they 
had  better  earn  it.  It  is  a  pity  she 
has  not  pointed  out  how;  there  are 
many  I  believe  who  would  gladly 
make  the  experiment.  But  the  fact 
is,  and  Sempronia  must  know  it, 
that  as  society  is  at  present  con- 
stituted, a  female  who  wishes  to 
be  considered  a  gentlewoman  has 
few  or  no  opportunities  of  earning 
money,  although  she  may  have 
many  of  saving  it:  one  of  these  is 
by  her  needle  ;  for  the  mistress  of 
a  family,  whose  circumstances 
oblige  her  to  economize,  can  cer- 
tainly contrive  to  save  every  year, 
by  her  needle-work,  a  sum,  which 
though  in  itself  trifling,  may  ne- 
vertheless be  of  considerable  con- 
sequence to  her. 

A  young  married  woman  of  my 
acquaintancc  furnishes  me  with  an 
example  of  this,  which  I  cannot 
resist  giving  to  your  readers.  She 
was  brought  up  by  a  housewifely 
mother,  one  of  those  women  who 
consider  it  a  crying  sin  to  be  a  mo- 


ment unemployed:  in  compliance^ 
however,  with  the  fashion  of  the 
times,  and  the  wishes  of  her  hus- 
band, she  suffered  her  daughter 
to  receive  a  liberal  education  ;  but 
she  took  care  also  that  a  complete 
knowledge  of  needle-work  should 
form  a  part  of  it.  My  young  friend, 
when  a  girl,  had  more  than  once 
deplored  the  drudgery,  as  she 
thought  it,  which  she  was  obliged 
to  go  through ;  and  when  she  be- 
came a  wife,  she  gaily  declared, 
that  her  labours  of  the  needle  were 
at  an  end. 

During  thefirstthreeyears  which 
passed  after  her  marriage,  she  had 
no  occasion  to  resume  them  ;  but 
in  the  beginning  of  the  fourth, 
some  losses  which  her  husband  sus- 
tained considerably  abridged  their 
income,  at  the  same  time  that  their 
family  was  increased  by  the  birth 
of  twins. 

It  was  then  that  my  friend  felt 
the  truth  of  her  mother's  axiom, 
"  a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  gain- 
ed :"  the  situation  of  her  husband, 
and  the  cares  of  her  family,  com- 
bined to  prevent  her  from  earning 
money,  and  had  she  not  known  how 
to  save  it,  herself  and  husband 
must  have  suffered  much  more  than 
they  did  bjr  their  change  of  for- 
tune. As  it  is,  her  unremitting  in- 
dustry has  softened  the  blow;  and 
1  believe  if  Sempronia  were  to  see 
her,  as  I  sometimes  do,  sitting  in 
an  evening  alternately  conversing 
with  and  listening  to  her  husband 
while  he  reads  aloud,  she  would 
admit,  that  a  sempstress  is  not  al- 
ways an  insipid  companion. 

"  Every  sort  of  knowledge," 
says  the  inimitable  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  "  has  its  use."  Your  corre- 
spondent Sempronia  says,  it  is  not 


ANSWER    ro   "   hBII'lU)M.\    ON    N '.i.DLI.- WOUK. 


1,57 


i  1111 

necessary  that  women  should  t>£ 
accustomed  to  the  u±c  of  their 
needle,  because  there  is  a  proba- 
bility that  they  will  be  supported 
by  the  persons  whom  they  marry. 
She  forgets  that  there  is  also  a  pro- 
bability they  may  never  marry  at 
all ;  and  certainly  the  latter  con- 
tingency ought  to  be  provided  for,  | 
by  giving  them  such  knowledge  as  ; 
might  enable  them  to  gain  a  sub- 
sistence. I  confess  I  have  often  i 
wished  that  I  could,  for  the  benefit 
of  women  so  circumstanced,  turn 
some  scores  of  idle  strapping  fel- 
lows out  of  the  different  shops  in 
which  females  could  just  as  well 
oiliciate.  I  am  surprised  that  Sem- 
pronia,  with  all  the  zeal  she  ex- 
presses for  the  welfare  of  this  class 
of  women,  should  gravely  argue 
against  their  filling  the  places  now 
occupied  by  men.  1  certainly 
would  not  have  them  encroach  upon 
the  privileges  of  the  latter;  I  would 
not,  though  Sempronia  seems  to 
think  it  might  be  done,  put  them 
into  the  offices  of  attornies,  nor 
teach  them  those  occupations  which 
might  be  deemed  above  their  capa- 
gitieSj  or  too  robust  for  their  sex  ; 
but  assuredly  they  should  have  the 
entire  management  of  lace,  rib-  j 
bons,  cambric,  and  every  thing 
else  which  appertains  to  the  dress 
of  their  sex.  We  should  no  more 
be  disgusted  with  the  sight  of  men 
whom  nature  intended  to  follow 
the  plough  or  carry  a  musket, 
measuring  muslin  or  descanting- 
on  the  beauties  of  silk. 

That  men  should  be  suffered  to 
deprive  the  weaker  sex  of  ihose 
occupations  for  which  nature  seems 
express'y  to  have  designed  them, 
is  an  evil  which  has  been  exposed 
'.bier  pens   than    mine;    and   if 

Pol  X.  Xo.  !  Flf. 


Sempronia  reajly  wishes  toeffecta 
change  for  the  belter  in  the  condi- 
tion of  this  industrious  class  of 
females,  she  may  promote  her  ob- 
ject much  more  effectually  by 
pointing  out  in  detail  the  hardships 
which  they  endure  from  this  prac- 
tice, than  by  railing  at  an  employ- 
ment which,  when  not  carried  to 
excess,  is  always  harmless,  and 
often  useful. 

In  the  various  objections  which 
your  correspondent  makes  to  nee- 
dle-work, either  as  an  employ- 
ment or  as  an  amusement,  she 
never  informs  us  what  she  would 
have  substituted  in  its  place.  I  am 
afraid  that  if  she  did  succeed  in 
banishing  it,  she  would,  have  no 
great  cause  to  triumph,  for  the 
time  now  occupied  with  it  would 
probably  be  much  less  innocently 
employed  in  cards  and  scandal. 

As  to  the  injury  which  needle- 
work does  to  trade,  I  apprehend 
it  can  be  very  little:  my  situation 
gives  me  opportunities  of  seeing  a 
good  deal  of  the  attire  of  women 
of  fashion;  and  for  the  ease  of 
your  fair  correspondent's  mind,  I 
beg  leave  with  truth  to  assure  her, 
that  she  will  not  find  ladies  of  rank 
now,  as  formerly,  decked  in  the 
work  of  their  own  hands:  the  fact 
is,  the  passion  for  needle-work  is 
pretty  nearly  extinct  in  the  higher 
classes;  it  may  be  the  resource  of 
an  idle  hour,  but  it  certainly  never 
forms  a  serious  employment. 

I  am  afraid,  sir,  you  are  by  this 
time  inclined  to  wish  that  I  had, 
by  preferring  the  needle  to  the 
pen,  saved  you  the  trouble  of  read- 
ing this  long  letter.  I  can  only 
apologize  by  saying  I  am  an  old 
woman,  consequently  privdeged  to 
he  tedious;  and  j;s  this  is  my  fii  t 
Y 


158 


view  or  sfcSTo. 


appearance  in  print,  and  I  will 
promise  never  to  offend  in  this  way 
again,  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness, 


and  am,  sir,  your  very  humble  sen 
vant, 

Olivia  Oldmode. 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR 

PLATE  14.—  VI 

Sksto  is  a  pretty  town,  situated 
at  the  southern  extremity  of  Lake 
Major,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Tes- 
sin.  The  hills  which  command 
Arona,  gradually  decreasing  in 
height,  discover  a  great  extent  of 
the  chain  of  the  Alps,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  which  rises  Mont  Rosa, 
which  rivals  Mont  Blanc  in  height, 
and  the  summit  of  which  has  never 
yet  been  attained. 

Mont  Blanc  rises  2465  toises 
above  the  level   of  the   sea,  and 


OF  MOUNT  SIMPLON. 

EW    OF   S.ESTO. 

Mont  Rosa  2430.  At  the  foot  of 
the  last  mountain  are  situated  the 
gold-mines  of  Macugnana. 

The  traveller  crosses  the  Tessin 
in  a  boat  to  reach  Sesto:  a  bridge, 
which  remains  to  be  constructed, 
will  unite  the  two  parts  of  the  road ; 
that  which  leads  to  Milan  for  a 
distance  of  ten  leagues  traverses 
the  fertile  plains  of  Lombardy, 
and  passes  through  the  towns  of 
Somma,  Gallarate,  and  Leniano, 
ornamented  by  beautiful  villas. 


DR.  SY 

To  place  the  name  of  this  dis- 
tinguished traveller  at  the  head  of 
an  article,  is  of  itself  enough  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  all  our  read- 
ers to  it. 

The  eighth  and  last  number  of 
his  "  Second  Tour  in  Search  of  the 
Picturesque"  is  now  completed ; 
and  the  extracts  we  have  already- 
furnished  in  the  course  of  the  pub- 
lication, will  shew  that  it  is  in  no 
respect  inferior,  and  in  some  par- 
ticulars, perhaps,  even  superior  to 
the  first  volume  containing  the 
First  Tour  of  Dr.  Syntax  :  they 
would  also  be  sufficient  to  establish 
how.  much  above  comparison  the 
productions  of  the  real  Dr.  Syntax 
are  with  the  spurious  imitations 
palmed  upon  the  public,  if  we 
could  suppose  that  any  of  the  dull 
trashfraudulently  printed  under  his 
name  had  reached  the  hands  of  our 
subscribers. 


NTAX. 

In  an  "Introduction"  accompa- 
nj'ing  the  last  number  now  before 
us,  the  humorous  and  original 
author  mentions  the  pieces  that 
have  in  truth  proceeded  from  his 
pen,  and  thus  so  far  puts  an  end  to 
further  deception.  We  are  happy 
to  add,  however,  and  our  friends 
will  learn  with  pleasure,  that  the 
Adventures  of  the  amusing  Doctor 
are  not  yet  concluded,  and  that  his 
"  Search  for  a  Wife"  will  be  produ- 
ced early  in  the  autumn,  which  af- 
fords even  a  wider  field  for  humor- 
ous description  and  character  than 
his  preceding  labours.  The  fact  is, 
that  the  writer  of  these  works,  being 
now  in  his  eightieth  year,  estab- 
lishes without  further  evidence,  that 
he  must  possess  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  native  wit  and  pleasantry, 
which  even  the  advance  of  the  in- 
firmities of  age  has  not  been  able 
to  diminish  or  .subdue.      To   thin 


DK.    SYNTAX. 


159 


circumstance,  and  to  the  base  at- 
tempts to  take  advantage  of  his 
well-earned  reputation,  he  adverts 
under  the  assumed  name  of  his 
hero  in  the  following  quotation  : 

The  Doctor  in  warm  lodging  seated, 
And  hope  of  being  kindly  treated 
Wuh  solace  both  of  bed  and  board. 
Which  smiling  promise  could  afford,, 
His  busy  cogitation  ran 
Upon  some  pleasant  gen'ral  plan, 
Which  might  be  prudent  he  should  take 
For  int'rest  or  diversion  sake, 
Or,  his  intention  nothing  loth, 
As  he  might  gratify  them  both. 
Free  from  restraint,  with  purse  well  lin'd, 
And  by  no  serious  claim  cnnfin'd, 
With  no  one  call  upon  his  time, 
From  sober  prose  or  sprightly  rhyme, 
The  breakfast  o'er,  he  pac'd  the  room, 
And  thus  laid  out  the  days  to  come, 
Which  were  allotted  him  to  stay 
In  this  grand  scene  of  grave  and  gay  ; 
What  he  should  first  begin  to  do, 
An  I  which  inviting  way  pursue. 
■ — Thus  he  in  contemplative  mood 
The  carpet's  gaudy  surface  trod, 
And,  with  hand  lifted  to  his  eye, 
Burst  into  this  soliloquy: 

"  I  shall  not  count  each  fleeting  year 
Since  fav'ring  Fortune  call'd  me  here, 
And  gave  me  more  than  humble  claim 
To  a  fair  literary  name, 
Which,  though  it  seems  I  should  not  boast, 
I  must  preserve  from  being  lost; 
And  as  I've  heard  that  various  arts, 
Which  a  base  servile  press  imparts, 
Do  their  delusive  tricks  employ, 
And  give  the  name  which  I  enjoy 
To  pettifogging  works,  which  I 
Must  view,  as  from  a  critic's  eye, 
With  contempt  and  contumely. 
— It  is  a  duty  which  I  owe 
To  all  the  readers  who  bestow 
Their  kind  smiles  on  my  rhyming  toil, 
And  well  repay  my  midnight  oil; 
Who  patronise  my  labours  past, 
And  may  protect  me  to  the  last : 
Nay,  well  I  know  it  is  not  long 
They'll  liave  to  cheer  my  evening  scng; 


The  wintry  note  must  soon  be  o'er 
That's  faintly  warbled  at  fourscore. 
But  'tis  my  duty,  I  repeat, 
Thus  to  unfold  the  foul  deceit, 
Nor  let  a  spurious  Syntax  claim 
Their  favour  to  a  pill'er'd  name  ; 
To  set  as  his  their  works  afloat, 
Which  real  Syntax  never  wrote; 
Nav,  such  as,  in  ill  fortune's  spite, 
The  real  Syntax  could  not  write. 
These  scribes  I'll  fail  not  to  expose, 
Who,  foes  to  truth  and  learning's  foes, 
Do  in  one  artifice  agree 
To  father  their  poor  works  on  me. 
To  speak  out,  there  is  no  concealing 
This  is  downright  dishonest  dealing, 
And  honest  tradesmen  will  condemn 
The  foul,  audacious  stratagem*." 

The  Doctor  ceas'd  ;  then  seiz'd  his  pen, 
To  tell  his  friends  at  Sommerden, 
Of  all  his  hist'ry  that  was  past 
Since  he  had  written  to  them  last; 
That  a  calm  settlement  in  town 
Did  his  long  ling'ring  journey  crown; 
And  that  in  fourteen  days  to  come, 
He  would  address  his  face  t'wards  home. 

It  was  our  intention  when  we 
commenced  this  article  to  have 
given  a  portion  at  least  of  a  most 
laiiQ-hable  incident  contained  in 
the  seventh  number  of  the  Second 
Tour,  where  great  and  ridiculous 
confusion  arises  out  of  a  mistake 
of  the  person  of  Dr.  Syntax,  who 
accidentally  met  with  a  striking  re- 
semblance of  himself  in  the  person 
of  a  certain  curate;  but  want  of 
room  compels  us  to  omit  it  for  the 
present.  One  of  the  last  scenes 
of  the  new  volume  occurs  at  a  din- 
ner of  the  Literary  Fund  at  the 
Freemasons'  Hall,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  hero  treats  the  assem- 

*  Without  continuing  the  subject  in  awk- 
ward verse,  I  shall  beg  leave  to  state  in  ho- 
nest prose,  that  "  The  Tour  of  Dr.  Syntax 
in  Search  of  the  Picturesque,"  '*  The  Eng- 
lish Dance  of  Death,"  and  "  The  Dance  of 
Life,"  with  this  volume,  are  the  only  works 
in  the  same  style  by  the  same  author. 

y  2 


160 


Dlt.    SYNTAX. 


bled  company  with  an  extempora- 
neous speech.  It  is  thus  intro- 
duced: 

The  day  soon  came  when  Bookworm's 
call 
Summon'd  him  to  Freemasons'  Hall. 
A  nuin'roiis  company  appear'd, 
The  sev'ral  toasts  were  loudly  cheer'd ; 
And  after  he  had  calmly  heard 
Displays  of  various  eloquence, 
Replete  with  warm  and  manly  sense, 
From  royal  lips  and  noble  mind, 
In  gen'ral  praises  Syntax  join'd  : 
At  length  he  felt  his  bosom  fir'd, 
And  with  the  love  of  art  inspir'd, 
He  rose,  his  modest  silence  broke, 
And  thus  the  zealous  Doctor  spoke  : 
Syntax. 

"  I,  who  am  seldom  call'd  to  stray 
From  life's  retir'd  and  secret  way  ; 
I,   who  presume  not  to  impart 
The  progress  or  the  rules  of  art; 
I,   who  with  weak  and  erring  hand 
The  pencil's  humblest  powers  command  ; 
I,  who,   with  timid  mind,  expose 
Mv  undigested  thoughts  to  those, 
Whose  elevated  genius  sways 
The  rising  arts  of  modern  days, 
Have  but  one  object  to  pursue 
In  thus  addressing  me  to  you. 
'Tis  not  improving  art  to  teach, 
A  subject  far  beyond  my  reach  ; 
But  suited  to  my  rank  and  state, 
On  those  high  powers  to  dilate, 
Which  the  ingenuous  arts  possess 
In  fav'ring  human  happiness; 
In  strengthening  the  moral  sen<e 
By  their  impressive  influence, 
While  they  the  improving  power  impart 
To  quicken  and  to  mend  the  heart : 
To  personate,  by  powers  cunbin'd, 
Pictures  of  virtue  in  the  mind  ; 
And  soften,   when  well  understood, 
Manners,  till  then  unform'd  and  rude*. 
Horace  has  said,   well  known  in  story, 
Who  liv'd  in  height  of  Roman  glory, 

* Insrennns  dedicisse  fideliter  artes, 


Emollit  mores  nee  smit  esse  feros. 


O'/lDr 


And  was  at  once  the  bard  and  sage 
Of  the  renown'd  Auiiustan  a^e, 
When  the  fine  arts  in  radiance  shone, 
As  Rome  imperial  had  not  known, 
And,  ere  the  Vandal  bade  them  cease, 
Were  rising  up  to  rival  Greece: 
To  this  bright  wit  it  did  appear, 
That  what  alone  we  list'ning  hear, 
Does  not  so  soon  affect  the  heart, 
As  does  the  eye  by  works  of  art*. 

"   I  shall  not  strive  to  state  the  mea- 
sure 
Of  the  secure  refining  pleasure, 
Which  the  productive  arts  can  give, 
And  we  may  ev'ry  day  receive  ; 
'Tis  not  for  my  weak  voice  to  stray 
Into  that  boundless,  glowing  way, 
Where  arts  of  the  remotest  age 
May  on  the  canvas  charm  the  sage; 
Present  in  figure,   form,  and  fashion, 
The  grand  events  of  ev'ry  nation, 
And  shew  each  hero  known  in  story, 
Amid  the  blaze  of  mortal  glory; 
Can  'neath  the  dreary  realm-  of  frost 
Give  to  the  eye  the  sunny  coast, 
And  the  most  distant  scenes  display 
Of  ev'rv  country's  various  dav; 
Can  decorate  the  plaster'd  wall 
Of  my  embower'il,  humble  hall, 
With  alpine  heights  and  icy  vales, 
Where  the  fierce  snowy  blast  prevail--, 
While  the  big  mountain  torrent's  course, 
Falling  with  impetuous  force, 
Does  the  astonish'd  channel  fill, 
Making  a  river  of  a  rill. 
Nay  more,  the  scenes  of  human  strife, 
Of  transient,  variegated  life, 
The  ocean's  or  the  tented  view 
Of  Trafalgar  and  Waterloo. 
Nor  these  alone,  the  poet's  fire 
Does  the  bold  artist's  hand  inspire, 
And  -hews,  as  we  the  thought  pursue, 
The  painter  and  the  poet  too. 
But  1  must  leave  these  powers  of  art 
To  those  who  can  their  charms  impart ; 
Who  can  with  truth  and  nature  tell 
The  secrets  which  they  know  so  well. 

*  Se^nius  irritcntanimosdemissa  per  aurem, 
Quam  quae  sunt  oculis  subjeeta  fidelihus. 
Hop..  Ars.  Pn-ct- 


nil?   tliAIAUi   TATTLTJR. 


161 


"  If  then  the  arts  are  thus  endued 
With  such  a  power  of  doing  good, 
What  have  they  not  a  right  to  claim 
Of  smiling  ease  and  honest  lame? 
And  much  it  doth  my  heart  delight 
T<>  view  th'  exhilarating  sight 
Of  numbers,  who,  in  art's  proud  growth, 
I  bless  just  Heav'n,  enjoy  them  both. 
They  with  their  pow'rful  pencil  teach, 
And  to  the  eye  their  doctrines  preach, 
When,   from  the  eye,  the  moral  art 
Steals  into  and  improves  the  heart. 
Thus  do  their  generous  minds  embrace, 
Without  reserve,  Art's  pining  race; 
Whether  the  victim  of  disease, 
Or  fortune's  eccentricities; 
Or  ueaken'd  by  the  slow  decay 
That  wastes  the  mind  and  form  away. 
— Oh  !  'tis  enough  an  artist  grieves, 
And  strait  the  warm  relief  receives. 
Are  Art's  young  offspring  in  distress? 
Here  is  a  power  prepar'd  to  bless. 
No  narrow,  cold  exception's  made*, 
No  stated  limits  that  invade 
Th'  expansive  wishes  to  apply 
The  cheering  aids  of  charity  : 
For  you  direct  its  noble  aim 
To  all,  'mid  Fortune's  frowns,  w  ho  chum, 
From  weeping  Art,  a  well -known  name. 
— The  tott'ring  easel  naked  stands, 
No  eye  the  pallet's  tints  commands, 
The  pencil's  fallen  from  the  hands, 

*  There  are  two  Societies  for  the  Relief  of 
Artists.  The  one  here  alluded  to  embraces 
artists,  their  widows  and  orphans,  without 
exception  :  it  is  called  the  Artists'  General 
Benevolent  Fund  ;  and  Mr.  John  Young,  of 
the  British  Institution,  is  its  Honorary  Se- 
cretary. The  other  confines  its  benefit  solely 
to  its  own  members  and  subscribers. 


Whose  nerves  have  felt  the  palsied  stroke, 

While  peflliry  reviews  the  shock 

With  tearful  eye,  that  doth  not  know 

A  termination  to  its  woe. 

Ye  wretched,  come,  and  dry  the  tear, 

Behold  the  termination  here! 

And,  oh  !  may  Heaven,  with  ray  divine, 

Illuminate  the  work  benign; 

And,  year  to  year,  may  be  renew'd 

The  added  power  of  doing  good! 

— Thus  may  the  arts  of  Britain's  isle 

Beneath  a  nation's  bountv  smile  ! 

Thus  we  may  hope,  when  all  protect, 

When  talent  need  not  fear  neglect, 

That  native  genius  will  increase, 

And  British  arts  may  rival  Greece. 

— Thus  I  presume  to  blend  at  least 

The  artist  and  the  Christian  priest; 

And  with  a  twofold  zeal  prefer, 

In  this  united  character, 

My  prayers  to  the  Almighty  Power, 

To  bless  this  righteous  festal  hour  ! 

And  having  thus  my  blessing  given, 

I  leave  the  rest  to  fa v 'ring  Heaven/' 

Thus  Syntax  pleaded  mercy's  cause; 
While  the  hall  echoed  with  applause. 

In  the  conclusion  of  his  Second 
Tour,  the  Doctor  presides  at  a  mar- 
riage feast  of  one  of  his  friends ; 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  this 
circumstance  put  him  in  mind  of 
the  fitness  of  providing  himself 
with  a  second  mate,  the  discovery 
of  whom  is  to  form  the  subject  of 
a  new  volume,  for  the  appearance 
of  which  we  shall  look  with  great 
interest. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  LVII. 


Then,  like  the  Sibyl's  leaves, 
O  scatter  them  abroad  ! 


-Drydkn. 


I  have  received  a  very  sensible,  p  difference  of  opinion  is  certainly 
well-written  letter,  whose  object  to  be  allowed,  and  truth  is  often 
it  is  to  attack  some  of  those  prin-  ]'••  elicited  from  it.  But  my  corre- 
ciples  which  this  collection  of  max- II  spondent  is  more  ingenious  than 
ims  is  calculated  to  inculcate.     A  'just,  and  I    shall  for  the  present 


162 


TUK    TEMALI;    TATTLFiiJ. 


leave  my  readers  to  j  udge  for  them- 
selves. F T . 


Of  all  the  pernicious  customs  to 
which  the  unthinking  opulent  are 
subject,  that  of  suffering  trades- 
people  to  languish  at  your  door, 
or  in  your  anti-room,  is  one  of  the 
most  insolent  and  prejudicial. 

Content  yourself  in  making  pur- 
chases with  less  than  the  exact  re- 
turn, rather  than  to  be  eternally 
disputing  for  more. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  unjust 
to  3'ourself  and  your  connections, 
to  allow  of  glaring  impositions. 

There  is  no  practice  more  mean 
and  trifling,  than  that  of  displac- 
ing, unfolding,  and  trespassing 
on  useful  occupations,  by  com- 
ments on  merchandise  you  have 
resolved  previously  not  to  buy. 

If  you  really  do  not  find  that 
which  you  have  sought  for,  if  you 
shall  have  been  obliged  to  take  up 
the  time  and  disappoint  the  hopes 
of  humble  industry,  endeavour  to 
shew  your  regret  by  the  acquisi- 
tion of  some  trifle  you  may  not  in- 
stantly want. 

But  above  all,  do  not  attempt  to 
depreciate  a  work  of  real  merit, 
either  because  your  faculties  deny 
your  acquirement  of  it,  or  that  it 
corresponds  not  with  your  ideas  of 
perfection. 

If  your  choice  and  taste  meet 
with  approbation,  let  those  who 
have  executed  your  designs  in  fur- 
niture, dress,  or  equipage,  share 
the  praise  and  profit  of  the  world's 
opinion,  by  a  circulation  of  their 
talents. 

You  will  consult  your  own  in- 
terest in  treating  the  persons  with 
whom  you  have  any  business  to 
transact  with  due  politeness. 


Weigh  in  the  scale  of  huma- 
nity the  inclemencies  of  weather, 
the  fatigue  of  distance,  those  may 
be  exposed  to  suffer  whom  you 
shall  employ. 

Lay  aside  your  dignity  and  a 
parade  of  opulence  for  a  moment 
sometimes,  to  place  yourself  in  that 
inferior  station  which  Providence 
has  been  pleased  for  wise  ends  to 
have  separated  you  from,  and  ex- 
empted from  its  humiliation,  for  a 
very,  very  short  space. 

To  be  punctual  to  your  engage- 
ments, and  civil  in  your  inter- 
course, with  every  degree,  will  de- 
rogate neither  from  riches,  beauty, 
nor  knowledge. 

Nothing  which  is  blended  with 
the  good  of  society  should  be 
treated  with  indifference;  in  no 
otherlight  than  thatof  decency  and 
modesty,  at  public  diversions,  seek 
to  be  conspicuous. 

Avoid  coming  late  into  a  thea- 
tre or  an  assembly:  your  right  to 
disturb  an  audience,  however  se- 
cured by  personal  advantage,  may 
be  disputed  you  very  disagreeably 
at  some  period  or  other. 

Loud  speech  and  affected  laugh- 
ter must  ever  be  censured,  as  ill- 
bred  towards  superiors,  and  trou- 
blesome to  the  public. 

There  are  who  seek  diversions, 
yet  carry  thither  a  discontented 
countenance  :  have  the  courage  to 
express  satisfaction  at  what  is  de- 
signed to  please. 

Refuse  not  to  join  with  general 
praise  of  those  whose  talents  have 
been  devoted  to  the  entertainment 
of  the  public. 

Though  your  single  suffrage  may 
prove  of  little  weight,  yet  added 
to  that  of  the  multitude,  will  at 
least  imply  a  humane  intention, 


T11K    F  J.MALE    TATTLER. 


163 


Beware  of  bestowing  public  ;ip- 
plausebut  by  attention  and  smiles: 
it  is  the  province  of  the  other  sex 
to  declare  their  sentiments  by  ac- 
clamation. 

If  your  birth  or  connections  shall 
bring  you  often  into  the  presence 
of  ihe  still  greater,  observe  a  clue 
respect,  but  avoid  low  adulation. 

Let  no  gracious  familiarity  from 
the  indulgence  of  superiors  take 
you  off  your  guard,  or  prevent  a 
momentary  omission  of  attentive 
duty:  these  are  scarcely  ever  for- 
gotten, and  seldom  pardoned. 

Permit  no  foolish  insinuations, 
or  ill-bred  examples,  ever  to  in- 
volve you  in  the  disgrace  of  im- 
proper behaviour  in  public  or  in 
private. 

To  be  exact  to  the  rules  of  good 
breeding  is,  in  the  eye  of  fools  of 
fashion,  deemed  awkwardness  and 
ignorance:  sustain  these  interpre- 
tations without  emotion,  and  per- 
sist intrepidly,  with  your  usual 
politeness,  to  keep  impertinence  at 
a  distance. 

If  an  uncommon  portion  of  fa- 
vour fall  to  your  share,  shew  you 
merit  the  distinction  by  your  mo- 
deration. 

Be  certain  you  will  hereafter  be 
called  to  a  strict  account  of  the 
use  you  shall  have  made  of  those 
advantages  Providence  shall  have 
bestowed  upon  you. 

Should  that  hand  whicb  gave, 
take  away,  let  the  recollection  of 
your  worthy  employ  of  power  or 
riches  while  in  possession  of  them 
console  you  for  the  privation. 

Suffer  no  degree  of  elevation  to 
engage  you  too  far  in  the  exer- 
tion of  power  :  those  whom  you 
are  compelled  to  refuse  will  long- 
er remember  the  disob  ligation,  than 


those  whom  you  shall  have  grati- 
fied the  benefit  conferred  on 
them. 

Avoid  warmth  on  political  sub- 
jects, however  clear  your  judg- 
ment :  your  sex  is  a  bar  to  such 
intercourse. 

Party  fascinates  the  eyes  and 
prejudices  the  understanding  even 
of  men;  but  partialities  in  our 
sex  will  be  attributed  to  want  of 
education  and  want  of  discern- 
ment. 

It  is  nothing  unusual  to  see 
young  persons  flattered  by  others, 
into  a  persuasion  of  their  power 
to  influence  in  matters  utterly  be- 
yond their  sphere. 

A  beauty,  with  some  share  of 
talents,  is  apt  to  persuade  herself, 
that  her  arguments  will  prove  as 
irresistible  as  her  eyes,  and  that 
teasing  will  lose  the  appearance  of 
importunity  in  those  of  an  admir- 
er: if  she  gain  success  but  once, 
she  will  soon  be  convinced  how 
dangerous  the  repetition  will  prove. 

Obstinac}''  in  dispute  becomes 
habitual:  beware  of  it;  it  will  in- 
sensibly degenerate  into  passion ; 
and  passion  degrades  a  woman. 

If  present  at  altercations  among 
your  friends,  and  you  shall  be  ap- 
pealed to,  avoid  making  a  decision, 
certain  of  creating  an  enemy  in 
the  condemned  person. 

If  you  shall  be  subdued  rather 
than  convinced  by  argument,  re- 
tain no  sullen  remembrance  of 
your  defeat. 

If,  on  y°ur  return  from  society, 
you  find  you  have  resisted  the  first 
impulse  of  your  temper,  by  check- 
ing the  impatience  of  answer,  your 
silence  will  afford  you  a  pleasant 
remembrance. 

In  mixed   conversation   do   not 


104 


THE    FJi.MALK    TATTI.KR. 


engross  more  than  a  small  portion 
of  it. 

Let  not  your  vivacity  carry  you 
too  far  even  in  the  line  of  truth. 

There  are  many  who  will  better 
bear  an  injury  than  an  interrup- 
tion. 

Do  not  take  upon  you  the  task 
of  correcting  the  vanity  of  others: 
it  is  a  delight  mixed  with  some  de- 
gree of  malice. 

Avoid  the  introduction  of  your 
knowledge  into  general  conversa- 
tion, according  to  the  just  but 
vulgar  term,  by  the  head  and 
shoulders. 

Embark  not  too  far  on  subjects 
you  do  not  completely  possess. 

Adapt  your  discourse  to  that  of 
your  company :  an  affected  supe- 
riority is  seldom  the  attendant  on 
a  relined  understanding. 

Despise  no  one,  nor  any  inno- 
cent mode  of  being  or  acting,  be- 
cause not  adopted  by  your  circle 
of  acquaintance. 

Too  oft  it  happens  that  the  mo- 
tive for  engaging  constantly  with 
any  one  set  is  derived  from  pride, 
and  risks  or  to  offend,  or  to  be 
offended,  by  the  excluded. 

If  you  wish  to  persuade  and 
convince,  do  not  prescribe  or  dic- 
tate: an  innate  love  of  liberty, 
among  all  degrees,  will  infallibly 
excite  the  spirit  of  revolt  against 
all  dictatorial  sentiments. 

Curiosity  is  a  foible,  I  fear  not 
unjustly  attributed  to  our  sex  : 
while  it  remains  merely  as  a  guide 
in  the  road  of  instruction,  it  is 
useful ;  but  when  stretched  into 
an  impertinent  inquiry,  it  is  odious. 

Quvstiun  with  caution  and  po- 
liteness, if  obliged  to  it,  from  a 
Lpflt  desire  of  information  j  an  ha- 


bitual questioner  rarely  waits  for 
an  answer. 

When  you  discover  a  studied 
intention  to  conceal  events  and 
their  causes  from  you,  be  assured 
it  proceeds  from  a  suspicion  of 
your  indiscretion. 

You  cannot  inflict  a  juster  pu- 
nishment on  the  mistrustful  or  ma- 
licious, than  to  resist  your  wish  for 
explanation  of  mysterious  insinu- 
ations. 

Intermix  no  peevishness  'with 
your  answer  to  idle  and  improper 
questions  :  a  distant  complaisance 
will  sooner  protect  you  against  re- 
peated attacks  of  that  nature,  than 
impatience. 

Endeavour  to  correct  a  disposi- 
tion to  absence  of  mind;  its  ef- 
fects are  various,  some  amusing, 
some  ridiculous,  but  all  unprofit- 
able. 

Absence  of  mind  has,  in  some 
instances,  been  contracted  from  a 
desire  of  imitating  persons  whose 
fame  in  other  respects  has  veiled 
their  errors. 

By  permitting  your  reflections 
to  carry  you  from  your  societv, 
you  expose  yourself  to  very  ha- 
zardous mistakes. 

From  the  moment  you  cease  to 
be  present  to  your  company,  you 
mav  los-  sighfeof  their  connections, 
misfortunes,  or  defects,  and  be- 
come cruelly  personal  by  unheed- 
ed observations  and  recitals. 

At  the  close  of  each  day,  trv  to 
recapitulate  the  part  you  have  act- 
ed in  it:  an  impartial  scrutiny  may 
cost  you  some  uneasy  moments, 
but  it  may  prevent  future  indis- 
cretiun. 

If  you  can  accuse  yourself  of 
having  touched  some  tender  string 


THE    OItl(.l>    <>F    WAKRS    *ND    FAIRS. 


165 


by  an  unguarded  sallv,  make  the  j  an  ambition  to  shine:   this  throws 

earliest  atonement  you  can.  !  the   speaker    into    the  superlative, 

Do   not  even  allow  yourself  to 


exaggerate  in  praise  or  in  censure. 
Truth  is   sometimes  outrun   by 


and  leaves  reality  behind. 

F T- 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  M 

Before    a   building  could   be  \\ 
used  for  divine  offices,  it  was  re-  ! 
quired   to   be  consecrated    by  the 
bishop,  formally  sequestered  from 
all  secular  application,  and  dedi- 
cated to  the  purposes  of  public  de- 
votion ;    and    every   church  at  its 
consecration  received  the  name  of 
some    particular    personage,  who 
was  celebrated  in  the  written  an- 
nals or  the  traditionary  history  of 
Christianity,  and  whose  name  had  j 
been  admitted  into  that  great  roll  1 
of  ecclesiastical  fame,  the  Calen- 
tlar  of  the  Church.     This  custom  | 
was  practised   among  the  Roman  j 
Britons;  and   thev  bad  the  church  j 
of  St.  Martin  at  Canterbury,  and  I 
that  of  St.  Michael  in  Manchester.  ! 
It  was  also  continued   anion"-  the  : 
Saxons,  and  the  Saxon  churches  in  '. 
York,    London,    and    Manchester, 
were  distinguished  by  the  names  of 
St.  Peter,    St.  Paul,  and  St.  Mary;  ; 
and   in  the  council  which  was  held  j 
at  Cealchythe  in  816,  the  name  of 
the    denominating    saint  was  ex- 
pressly required  to  be  inscribed  on 
the  altars,  and  also  on  the  walls  of 
the  church,  or  a  tablet  within  it. 

The  feast  of  this  saint  became  ; 
of  course  the  festival  of  thechurch;  i 
and  the  connection  between  the  j 
church  and  saint  being  enhanced  ! 
by  the  fancifulnessof  superstition, ! 
and  the  former  supposed  to  be  un-  I 
der  the  patronage  of  the  latter,  the  j 
parishioners  would  naturally  con- 
sider the  day  of  their  spiritual 
V>A.  ;/.  No.  LP  1 1. 


AKES  AND  FAIRS. 

guardian  with  particular  respect, 
and  celebrate  it  with  peculiar  fes- 
tivity. This  conduct  would  as  na- 
turally be  encouraged  by  the  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  governors,  be- 
cause it  substituted  innocent  and 
christian  festivals  in  the  room  of 
the  impious  and  idolatrous  anni- 
versaries of  heathenism.  The  com- 
mon people,  who,  generally  in  all 
countries,  areas  much  attached  to 
the  festivals,  as  they  are  devoted 
to  the  principles,  of  any  religion, 
finding  their  annual  feasts  return 
as  before,  and  being  now  able  to 
join  in  them  without  guilt,  would 
be  the  sooner  weaned  from  their 
idolatrous  attachment*;  and  this 
would  be  the  natural  operation  of 
the  affections  equally  on  the  con- 
tinent and  in  the  island,  and  equal- 
ly among  the  Britons  and  Saxons. 
Thus  at  the  first  commencement 
of  Christianity  among  the  Jutes  of 
Kent,  and  with  a  view  to  promote 
the  coversion  of  them  and  the  rest, 
Gregory  prudently  advised  what 
had  been  previously  done  among 
the  Britons:  Christian  festivals  to 
be  instituted  in  the  place  of  the 
idolatrous,  and  the  suffering-day  of 
the  martyr  whose  relics  were  rcpo- 
sited  in  the  church,  or  the  day  on 
which  thebuilding  was  actually  de- 
dicated, to  be  the  established  feast 
of  the  parish.  Both  were  appoi  n  ted 
and  observed,  and  they  were  observ- 
ed and  appointed  as  distinct  festi- 
i  vals.     Bishop   Kennet  indeed,  in 


166 


run.  origin  of  wakes  and  jaius. 


his  sensible  account  of  our  wakes, 
has  invariably  confounded  them, 
and  attributed  to  the  day  of  dedi- 
cation what  is  true  only  concern- 
ing the  saint's  day.  But  they  were 
fully  distinguished  at  first  among 
the  Saxons,  as  appears  from  the 
laws  of  the  Confessor,  where  the 
dies  dedicationis  or  dedicatio  is  re- 
peatedly discriminated  from  the 
propria  festivilas  sancti,  or  ce/e- 
bratio  sancti ;  and  they  remained 
equally  distinctto  the  Reformation, 
the  dedication -day  in  153G  being 
ordered  for  the  future  to  be  kept 
on  the  first  Sunday  in  October,  and 
the  festival  of  the  patron  saint  to 
be  celebrated  no  longer. 

But  the  former  could  never  have 
been  observed  by  the  people  with 
the  same  regard  as  the  latter:  that 
was  merely  a  feast  commemorative 
of  the  church's  commencement; 
and  this  was  one  previously  kept 
by  the  nation  in  general,  and  the 
day  of  their  own  saint  in  particu- 
lar. This,  therefore,  in  a  high 
strain  of  pre-eminence  over  the 
other,  was  actually  denominated 
the  church's  holiday,  or  its  pecu- 
liar festival ;  and  whilst  this  re- 
mains in  many  parishes  at  present, 
the  other  is  utterly  annihilated  in 
all :  so  that  thelearned  and  sensible 
antiquary  who  has  been  mention- 
ed before,  actually  knew  nothing 
of  its  distinct  existence,  and  ab- 
solutely confounded  it  with  this. 

Thus  instituted  at  first,  the  day  | 
of  the  tutelar  saint  was  observed, 
most  probably  by  the  Britons,  and  ' 
certainly  by  the  Saxons,  with  great 
devotion ;    and    the   evening    be-  ■ 
fore  every  saint's  day,  in  the  Sax-  i 

on -Jewish   method    of   reckoning: 

i 
the  hours,  being  an  actual  part  of 

the  day,  and  therefore,  like  that, \ 


resigned  to   the   duties  of  public 
religion;    as  they  reckoned  Sun- 
day from  the  first  to  commence  at 
the  sunset  of  Saturday,  the  even- 
ing preceding   the  church's  holi- 
day would  be  observed  with  all  the 
devotion  of  the  festival.    The  peo- 
ple actually  repaired  to  the  church, 
and  joined   in   the  services  of  it; 
and  they  thus  spent  the  evening 
of  their  greater  festivities   in   the 
monasteries  of  the    north  as  early 
as  the  conclusion  of  the  seventh 
century.     In  that  of  Rippon,  and 
on  the  anniversary  of  Wilfrid  par- 
ticularly, we  see  the  bishops,  ab- 
bots, and   numerous  trains  of  at- 
tendants, all  convened  at  the  mo- 
nastery in  order  to  celebrate  the 
day,  and  all  assembled  the  even- 
ing before  it  at  the  prayers  of  the 
church  ;  and   these   services  were 
naturally  denominated,  from  their 
late  hours,  vaeccan  or  wakes,  and 
vigils  or  eves.     That  of  the  anni- 
versary at  Rippon,  as  early  as  the 
commencement  of  the  eighth  cen- 
tury, is  expressly  denominated  the 
vigil ;    but    that   of    the   church's 
holiday    was    named    the    vaeccan 
or  church  wake,  the  church  vigil 
or   church    eve:   and    it   was   this 
commencement    of    both    with    a 
wake  which   has  now  caused    the 
days  to  be  generally  preceded  with 
vigils,  and  the  church  holiday  par- 
ticularly to   be   denominated  the 
church  wake.     So  religiously  were 
the  eve  and  festival  of  the  patron 
saint  observed  for  many  ages  by 
the   Saxons,  even   as   late   as    the 
reign  of  Edgar,  the  former  being 
spent  in  the  church  and  employed 
in  prayer;   and  the  wake,  and  all 
other  holidays  in  the  year,  were 
put  upon  the  same  footing  with  the 
octaves   of  Christmas,  of    iiast.r, 


THK    ORIGIN    OF    WAKf:3   AND    FAIRS. 


167 


Alia    of  Pentecost;  arid   any   per-  i  would  act  with  a  religious  proprie- 
sohs  repairing-  to  the  cek  oration  of     t\-,   yet  all  together  they  act  with 

the    clay   were,    as    all    ordinarily  irreligion  and  folly.     The  fire  im- 

vesorting  to  the  church,  under  the  perceptihly    runs   from    breast    to 

immediate  protection  of  the  king,  breast,  each   contributes   to  swell 

and  consequently  free  from  arrests  |  the  tide  of  spirits  beyond  its  pro- 

in  their  way  to  and  return  from  it.  per  hounds,  and   wickedness  and 

Yv  hen    Gregory    recommended  ',  absurdity  enter  at  the  breach  that 

the  festival  of  the  patron  saint,  he  is  made  in   reason;  and  this  vici- 

also recommended  something  more  ousness  is  always  augmented  in  its 

adapted  to  gain  a  general   recep-  ||  force    when     the    grosser   spirits, 

tion  than  religious  acts  and  exer-  that  are  merely  the  result  of  feast- 

cises.     He  advised  that  the  people  \\  ing,  mingle  and  ferment  the  tide, 

should  be  encouraged  on  the  da}-  The  feasting  of  the  saint's  day  was 


of  the  festival  to  erect  booths  of 
branches  about  the  church,  and  to 
feast  and  be  merry  in  them  with 
innocence;  and  as  the  authority  of 
Gregory  would  certainly  cause  the 
encouragement  to  be  given,  so  the 
smallest  would  be  effectual.  Nor 
would  such  churches  only  as  had 
previously  been  heathen  temples, 
but  all  immediately  have  the  day 
of  their  guardian  saint  observed 
with  this  open  festivity.  As  the 
people  had  all  been  idolaters,  the 
reason  would  be  equally  forcible 
for  one  parish  as  another;  and 
the  strong  tendency  of  the  com- 
mon people  to  every  sensitive  en- 
joyment, would  make  the  practice 
universal.  In  every  parish,  on 
the  returning  anniversary  of  the 
saint,  little  pavilions  were  con- 
structed of  boughs;  and    the  im- 


soon  abused  ;  and  it  seems  to  have 
:  been  greatly  so  before  the  reign  of 
i  Edgar,  as  the  intemperance  of  the 
J  festival  was  then  creeping  even  in- 
to the  vigil,  and  even  mixing  with 
;  the  offices  of  religion.     In  the  ve- 
;  ty  body  of  the  church,  when  the 
people  were  assembled  for  devo- 
!  tion,  they  were  beginning  to  mind 
diversions  and  introduce  drinking; 
and  so  gross  an  abuse  of  the  eve 
could  have  stolen  in  only  from  the 
licentiousness  of  the  festival.    The 
growing  intemperance  would  gra- 
dually stain  the  service  of  the  vi- 
gil, until    the   festivity   of   it  was 
converted,  as    it  now  is,   into  the 
rigour  of  a  fast.     These  disorders 
would    be  less  obnoxious   on   the 
day  itself,  because  the}'   did    not 
intrude   within    the    church    and 
profane  the  prayers  ;  but  tffey  were 


mediate  neighbourhood  of  St.  Mi-  j!  certainly  greater,  and  went  on  in- 
chad's  and  the  church-yard  of  St.  J|  creasing  in  viciousness  and  folly, 
Mary's  resounded  with  the  voice  of  i|  until  they  too  justly  scandalized 


hospitality  and  the  notes  of  merri- 
ment. 

But  few  persons  are  ever  to  be 
intrusted  to  feast,  and  fewer  are 
to  be  allowed  to  meet  in  numbers 
together.     There  is  a  contagious 


the  Puritans  of  the  last  century, 
and  numbers  of  the  wakes  were 
disused  entirely.  Our  own  lias 
been  long  discontinued  :  it  was  not 
abolished  in  1536  by  the  law  of 
Henry  VIII.  which  appears  to  have 


viciousness  in  crowds;  though  each  i   had  little  or  no  influence   on   the 
individual     of    them    by    himself    general  practice;  it  was  pi it  down 


Z    2 


168 


THF.    OIUGfN    OF    VVAKF.S    AND    FAIRS. 


by  a  particular  and  local  order  in 
1579,  and  forgotten  in  the  long; 
and  rigid  reign  of  Puritanism  that 
was  then  commencing:  and  Henry 
Earl  of  Derby,  Henry  Earl  of  Hun- 
tingdon, William  Lord  Bishop  of 
Chester,  and  others  of  high  com- 
mission under  Queen  Elizabeth, 
assembled  at  Manchester  in  1579; 
issued  orders  against  pipers  and 
minstrels  playing,  making  and  fre- 
quenting ales,  or  bear-baitings,  on 
the  Sunday,  or  any  other  day  of  the 
week,  in  time  of  divine  service  or 
sermons ;  and  prohibited  for  the  fu- 
ture all  superfluous  and  supersti- 
tious ringing,  common  feasts  and 
wakes.  But  the  wake  of  the  neigh- 
bouring parish  of  Eccles  is  cele- 
brated to  the  present  day,  and  a 
considerable  number  of  people  re- 
sort to  it  annually  from  all  the  ad- 
joining parishes. 

This  custom  of  celebrity  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  church  on 
the  days  of  particular  saints,  was 
introduced  into  England  from  the 
continent,  and  must  have  been 
familiar  equally  to  the  Britons  and 
Saxons;  being  observed  among  the 
churches  of  Asia  in  the  sixth  cen- 
tury, and  by  those  of  West-Eu- 
rope in  the  seventh;  and  equally 
in  Asia  and  Europe,  equally  on  the 
continent  and  in  the  island,  these 
celebrities  were  the  causes  of  those 
commercial  marts  which  we  de- 
nominate fairs.  The  people  re- 
sorted in  crowds  to  the  festival,  and 
a  considerable  provision  would  be 
wanted  for  their  entertainment. 
The  prospect  of  interest  invited 
the  little  traders  of  the  country  to 
come  and  offer  their  wares,  and  the 

.convenience  of  the  accommodation 

■ 

i 


promoted  a  vigorous  sale  among 
the  people  ;  and  other  traders  were 
induced,  by  the  experience  of 
these,  to  bring  in  different  arti- 
cles, and  hope  for  an  equal  sale. 
Thus,  among  the  many  pavilions 
for  hospitality  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  church,  various  booths 
were  erected  for  the  sale  of  com- 
modities. In  large  towns,  sur- 
rounded with  populous  districts, 
the  resort  of  the  people  to  the 
wake  would  be  great,  and  the  at- 
tendance of  traders  at  the  celebri- 
ty numerous;  and  this  resort  and 
this  attendance  constitute  a  fair. 
Basil  expressly  mentions  the  nu- 
merous appearance  of  traders  at 
these  festivals  in  Asia,  and  Grego- 
ry notes  the  same  custom  to  be 
common  in  Europe ;  and  as  the 
festival  was  observed  on  nfcria,  or 
holiday,  it  naturally  assumed  to  it- 
self, and  as  naturally  communica- 
ted to  the  mart,  the  appellation  of 
feria,  or  fair.  The  same  among  the 
Saxons,  the  French,  the  Germans, 
and  the  Britons,  fager,  foire,  feyer, 
and  fuii ,  the  word  was  derived 
from  the  same  source  in  all  these 
nations,  the  one  ecclesiastical  lan- 
guage of  West-Europe  at  this  pe- 
riod ;  and  several  of  our  most  an- 
cient fairs  appear  to  have  been 
actually  held,  and  have  been  ac- 
tually continued  to  our  time,  on 
the  original  church  holidays  of  the 
places ;  as  that  on  the  festival  of 
St.  Peter,  at  St.  Peter's  church  in 
Westminster;  another  on  the  feast 
of  St.  Cuthbert,  at  St.  Cuthbert's 
in  Durham ;  and  a  third  on  the  ho- 
liday of  St.  Bartholomew*  at  St. 
Bartholomew's  in  London. 


..• 


169 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


linudia  a    X/cc,  in  thirteen  vocal 
Duets,    nilh    an     Accompaniment 
for  the  Piano-forte,  composed,  and 
dedicated  by  permission  to  II.  R.  [J. 
the  Dake  of  Sasse.r,  by  J.  F.  Dan- 
neley.    Duetto  2do.    Pr.  2s.     (II. 
Harm.  Institution.) 
Tilt-,   nature  of  tiiis  publication 
having  been  stated  in  our  preced- 
ing Number,  we  at  once  proceed 
to  the  notice  of  the  second  duet  in 
this  series.     The  key  is  E  minor  in 
the  first  movement,  and  G  major 
in  the  next.     The  minor  motivo  is 
interesting  and  tastefully  conceiv- 
ed, but  the  extended  figure  upon 
"  E  ver' "  seems  to  us  too  long,  es- 
pecially when  we  consider  the  ter- 
mination  by   a   consonant.      The 
same  observation  applies  to  the  sub- 
sequent passage  "  Che  mascherai." 
♦Such  syllables  as  "  mas"  will  not 
bear  dragging  through  two   long 
bars.     The  change  of  motivo  and 
tempo  at  "  Ma  cangiono  colore" 
is  well   placed,   the  subject  itself 
graceful,  and  the  ideas  propound 
ed  in  its  developement  (p.  3)   have 
our   approbation,  both  in   respect 
of   conception    and    arrangement, 
except  in   the  last  line,  in  which 
the  accompaniment  labours  through 
a  very  crude  sort  of  harmou}'.     In 
the  choral-like  termination   (p.  5) 
we  observe  some  select  thoughts, 
but  we  doubt  whether  their  com- 
plexion is  not  too  mournful  for  the 
text.     Indeed,  with  some  few  ex- 
ceptions, the  tinge  of  the  whole 
duet  is  too  sombre,  and  its  pro- 
gress rather  too  languid. 
The  favourite  Air  "  My  native  land, 


ano-forte,  with  an  Accompaniment 
for    the    Flute,  by    F.    J.    Klose. 
Pr.  3s.      (Chappell  and  Co.) 
The  title  should  have,  stated,  that 
this  is  Mr.  Klose's  air  above-men- 
tioned, nitli  variations  for  the  pi- 
ano-forte and   flute.     There  is  an 
introduction    of    considerable    in- 
terest, only  it  plays  rather  truant 
with  the  key,  which  is  F,  while  the 
greatest  part  of  the  introduction 
dwells  upon  A  minor. 

The  variations  are  conceived  in 
a  very  good  style;  they  are  fluent, 
and  fall  kindly  under  the  fingers: 
the  flute,  too,  has  an  opportunity 
of  shewing   its    powers,    although 
the  arrangement  has  been  so  con- 
trived   that   the    piano-forte    may 
supply  the   absence  of  the    flute. 
Among  the  several  variations,  No.  2. 
distinguishes  itself  by  the  apt  ap- 
plication of  crossed  hands.  In  No.  3. 
the  passages  are  devised  with  much 
neatness;  and  in  No.  4.  the  flute  is 
particularly  effective.     No.  5    is  a 
pretty   polacca;  only   its  termina- 
tion is  not  alia  polacca.     The  coda 
in  var.  7.  is  spirited,  and  altogether 
made  up  of  select  ideas. 
"  Oh!  farezcell,  dearest  fair-one"  a 
Ballad,  la  ilieit  bu  D.  A.  O'Meara, 
Esq.  adapted,  Tilth  nezc  Symphonies 
and  Accompaniments,  to  a  favourite 
Irish   Me/odi/,  by  J.  Davy.     Pr. 
Is.  6.d.     (Wheatstone,  Strand  ) 
There    is   something   peculiarly 
sweet  and   affecting   in   the    Irish 
melody  to  which  this  text  has  been 
adapted,  and  the  choice  of  the  key 
(E  major)  adds  to  the  good  effect 


of  the  ballad.  The  symphonies 
good  night  "  sung  by  Mrs  Ashe,  II  and  the  harmonic  arrangement  of 
*0mpn$ed,  and  arranged  fnr  the  Pi-  [  Mr.    Davy,  too,  are   devised    with 


170 


THE    EARLY    LIFE    OI'    A    POET. 


considerable  taste,  so  that  nothing 
is  wanting  to  render  this  ballad 
truly  interesting. 

A  I '  enetian  Boat-Son<i,  zcritten,  and 
arranged    for    three     I'oices,    by 
D.  A.CPMeara,  Esq.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 
(Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
The  air  to  which  this  little  trio 
has  been  fitted,  is  one  of  those  few 
melodies  which  at  once  take  pos- 
session of  the  hearer's  heart.     Its 
pure  simplicity  proclaims  it  to  be 
a  child   of  nature,  the   invention 
probably — not  of  an  unmusical  be- 
ing certainly — but  of  one  little  in- 
itiated in  the  professional   myste- 
ries of  the  art.     Perhaps,  indeed, 
such  a  melody,  so  sweet,  so  placid^ 
so  innocent,  is  beyond  the  power 
of  the  learned  contrapuntist.     We 
have  heard  the  tune  often,  and  in 
different  shapes,  even  as  a  quad- 
rille, and  we  are  still  in  love  with 
it.     As  a  glee,  under  which  dress 
it  appears  on  the  present  occasion, 
it  has  likewise  strong  claims  on  cur 
predilection,  and    we   have  every 
reason   to    be    satisfied    with    both 
the  general  effect  and  the  special 
arrangement  of  the  parts. 
A    Series   of  Caledonian    /lirs,  zcith 
Variations  for  lite  Piano-forte,  by 
J.  F.  Burrowes.     No.  VII.     Pr. 
2s.  6d.   (Goulding  and  Co.)- 
The  Scotch  air,  "The  Highland 
Laddie,"    serves   as   a   theme    for 


these  variations,  which  we  do  not 
hesitate  to  pronounce  capital ;  al- 
though we  feel  an  unconquerable 
antipathy  to  the  unripe  concluding 
cadences  of  the  subject,  in  the  fifth 
of  the  key,  which,  in  truth,  make 
no  conclusion  at  all.  After  the  de- 
cisive opinion  already  given  on  the 
merits  of  these  variations,  it  would 
be  needless  to  say  more;  and  yet 
we  can  hardly  refrain  front  advert- 
ing to  the  coda,  which  is  excellent : 
it  presents  some  "  grand  effects,'' 
and  combines  tasteful  expression 
with  luxuriant  brilliancy. 
The  Coronation  IValtz  for  the  Pia- 
iio -forte,  composed  by  W.  Grosse. 
Pr.  Is.  6d.  (Phi'lipps  and  May- 
hew,  Old  Bond-street.) 
Mr.  Grosse's  loyalty  omits  no 
opportunity  to  contribute  the  com- 
poser's mite  towards  commemorat- 
ing the  passing  events  of  national 
interest.  In  the  present  instance, 
his  pen  has  been  dedicated  to  fu- 
turity, so  that  there  will  be  full 
time  to  be  perfect  in  his  composi- 
tion against  its  being  wanted.  The 
waltz  is  agreeable,  and  its  succes- 
sive parts  are  imagined  in  fanciful 
diversity.  The  last  of  them,  the 
coda,  terminates  the  ceremony  in 
a  curious  but  loyal  manner;  the 
procession  being  made  to  waltz 
home  to  the  tune  of  "  God  save 
the  Kina:.*4 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Consisting  oj  interesting  Extracts  from  new  popular  Publications. 


THE    EARLY    LIFE  OF   A    POET. 

(From  Coleridge's  Biographia  Literaria.) 

In  1794,  when  I  had  barely  pass-  poems.  They  were  received  with 
ed  the  verge  of  manhood,  I  pub-  j  a  degree  of- favour,  which,  young 
lished  a  small  volume  of  juvenile  jj  as  I  was,  I  well  knew  was  bestow- 


Tin.    i.AKI.V    IJFK    OF    A   POET. 


171 


ed  on  them  not  so  much  for  any  i  first   is  the  fault  which  a  writer  is 


positive   merit,    as   because    they 

were  considered  buds  of  hope,  and 
promises  of  better  works  to  come. 


the  least  able  to  detect  in  his  own 
compositions  ;  and  my  mind  was 
not  then  sufficiently  disciplined  to 


The  critics  of  that  day,  the  most  receive  the  authority  of  others,   as 

flattering,  equally  with  the  sever-  a  substitute  for  my  own  conviction, 

est,    concurred     i:i     idii.cting     to  ,  Satisfied   that    the  thoughts,    such 

Litem,  obscurity,  a  general  turgid-  as  they  were,   could  not  have  been 

ness  of  diction,  and  a  profusion  of;  expressed   otherwise,    or   at  least 


new-coined  double  epithets*.    The 


*  The  authority  of  Milton  and  ! 
speare  may  be  useful! v  pointed  out  to 
yofihg authors.  In  the  Comes  and  ear- 
lier poems  of  Milton  there  is  a  superflU- 
itv  of  double  epithets;  while  ki  the  Pa- 
wolfse  List  we  find  very  lew,  in  the  Pa-  j!  tll0llgh  not  exclusively,  to  the  Re- 
radise  Regained  scarce  any.      The  same      %WS    MusingjS,      The     remainder 


more  perspicuously,  I  forgot  to 
inquire,  whether  the  thoughts 
themselves  did  not  demand  a  de- 
gree of  attention  unsuitable  to  the 
nature  and  objects  of  poetry.  This 
remark,  however,   applies  chiefly, 


remark  holds  almost  equally  true  of  the 
Love's  Labour  Lost,  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
Venus  and  Adonis,  and  Lucrece,  compared 
with  ihe  Lear,  Macbeth,  Othello,  and 
Hamlet  of  our  great  dramatist.  The 
rule  for  the  admission  of  double  epithets 
stems  to  be  this:  either  that  they  should  ' 
be  already  denizens  of  our  language, 
such  as  blood-stained,  terror-stricken, 
self-applauding  ;  or  when  a  new  epithet, 
or  one  found  in  books  only,  is  hazarded, 
that  it  ai  least  be  one  word,  not  two  words 
made  one  by  mere  virtue  of  the  prim- 
er's hyphen.  A  language  which,  like 
the  English,  is  almost  without  cases,  is 
indeed  in  itsvery  genius  unfitted  for  com- 
pounds. If  a  writer,  every  time  a  com- 
pounded word  suggests  itself  to  him, 
would  seek  for  some  other  mode  of  ex-  j 
pressing  the  same  sense,  the  chances  are 
always  greatly  in  favour  of  his  finding  a 
better  word.  "  Tanquam  scopulum  sic; 
vites  insolens  verbum,"  is  the  wise  advice 
of  Caesar  to  the  Roman  orators,  and  the 
precept  applies  with  double  force  to  the, 
writers  in  our  language.  But  it  must  not 
be 'forgotten,  that  the  same  Caesar  wrote 
a  grammatical  treatise  for  the  purpose  of 
reforming  the  ordinary  language  bv 
bringing  it  to  a  greater  accordance  with 
the  principled  of  fogic,  or  nriiver-sal  gram-1 
mar. 


i  of  the  charge  I  admitted  to  its  full 
!  extent,  and  not  without  sincere  ac- 
knowledgments to  both  my  private 
and  public  censors  for  their  friend- 
ly admonitions.     In  the  after  edi- 
tions, I  pruned  the  double  epithets 
with  no  sparing  hand,   and    used 
my  best  efforts  to  tame  the  swell 
and    glitter    both  of  thought  and 
diction;  though,  in  truth,  these  pa- 
rasite  plants  of    youthful    poetry 
had    insinuated     themselves    into 
my  longer  poems  with  such  intri- 
cacy of  union,    that  I  was   often 
obliged  to  omit  disentangling  the 
weed,  from  the  fear   of  snapping 
the  flower.     From  that  period   to 
the  date  of  the  present  work  I  have 
published  nothing,  with  my  name, 
which   could    by    any    possibility 
have  come  before  the  board  of  ano- 
nymous criticism.     Even  the  three 
or   four   poems    printed   with   the 
works  of  a  friend,  as  far  as  they  were 
censured  at  all,  were  charged  with 
the  same  or  similar  defects,  though 
I   arn    persuaded    not  with    equal 
justice:  with  an  excess' of  ornament, 
in  addition  to  .strained  and  eluhi>rale 
dictioHf      ( i  idc   the    criticisms   on 


172 


THE    EARLY    LIFE    Oh    A    POET. 


"  The  Ancient  Mariner,"    in   the 
Monthly  and    Critical   Reviezcs   of 
the    first   volume   of    the    Lyrical 
Ballads.)      May  I  be  permitted  to 
add,  that,  even  at  the  early  period 
of  my  juvenile  poems,  I  saw  and 
admitted  the  superiority  of  an  au- 
sterer    and    more     natural    style, 
with  an  insight  not  less  clear  than 
I  at  present  possess.    My  judgment 
was  stronger  than  were  my  powers 
of  realizing  its  dictates;  and  the 
faults  of  my  language,  though  in- 
deed    partly    owing    to    a   wrong 
choice  of  subjects,  and  the  desire 
of  giving  a  poetic  colouring  to  ab- 
stract   and    metaphysical    truths, 
in  which  a  new  world  then  seemed 
to  open  upon  me,  did  yet,  in  part  j 
likewise,    originate   in    unfeigned 
diffidence  of  my  own  comparative  | 
talent.       During  several  years  of! 
my  youth  and  early  manhood,  I  re- 
verenced those  who  had    reintro- 
duced the  manly  simplicity  of  the 
Grecian    and  of    our   own     elder 
poets,   with    such    enthusiasm,    as 
made  the  hope  seem  presumptuous 
of  writing  successfully  in  the  same 
style.     Perhaps  a  similar  process 
has  happened  to  others;    but  my 
earliest  poems  were  marked  by  an 
ease  and  simplicity,  which  I  have 
studied,  perhaps  with  inferior  suc- 
cess, to  impress  on  my  later  com- 
positions. 

At  school  I  enjoyed  the  inesti- 
mable advantage  of  a  very  sensible, 
though  at  the  same  time  a  very  se- 
vere master.  He*  early  moulded 
my  taste  to  the  preference  of  De- 
mosthenes to  Cicero,  of  Homel- 
and Theocritus  to  Virgil,  and  again 

*  The  Rev.  James  Bowyer,  many 
years  head-  master  of  the  grammar-school 
Christ  Hospital. 


of  Virgil  to  Ovid.     He  habituated 
me  to  compare  Lucretius  (in  such 
extracts  as  I  then  read),  Terence, 
and  above  all  the  chaster  poems  of 
Catullus,  not  only  with  the  Roman 
poets  of  the,  so  called,  silver  and 
brazen  ages,  but  with  even   those 
of     the    Augustan    era ;    and    on 
grounds  of  plain  sense  and  univer- 
sal logic,  to  see  and  assert  the  su- 
periority  of    the  former,    in     the 
truth  and  nativeness  both  of  their 
thoughts  and  diction.     At  the  same 
time   that  we  were  studying    the 
Greek  tragic  poets,   he    made  us 
read    Shakspeare    and    Miltun    as 
lessons  ;  and  they  were  the  lessons 
too  which  required  most  time  and 
trouble  to  bring  up,  so  as  to  escape 
his  censure.     I  learned  from  him, 
that  poetry,  even  that  of  the  lofti- 
est   and,  seemingly,    that  of    the 
wildest  odes,  had  a  logic  of  its  own, 
as  severe  as  that  of  science;   and 
more  difficult,  because  more  subtle, 
more  complex,  and  dependent  on 
more,  and    more  fugitive    causes. 
In  the  truly  great  poets,  he  would 
say,  there  is  a  reason  assignable, 
not  only  for  every  word,  but  for 
the  position  of  every  word;    and  I 
well  remember,  that  availing  him- 
self of  the  synonimes  to  the   Ho- 
mer of  Didymus,  he  made  us  at- 
tempt to  shew,  with  regard  to  each, 
why  it  would  not  have  answered  the 
same   purpose,    and  wherein  con- 
sisted the  peculiar  fitness  of  the 
word  in  the  original  text. 

In  our  own  English  compositions 
(at  least  for  the  last  three  years  of 
our  school  education)  he  shewed 
no  mercy  to  phrase,  metaphor,  or 
image,  unsupported  by  a  sound 
sense,  or  where  the  same  sense 
might  have  been  conveved  with 
equal  force  and  dignity  in  plainer 


II.".  ;  vkf.Y  tti'R  or  a  poirr. 


17.1 


words.  Lute,  harp,  and  lyre,  muse, 
uiuses,  and  inspirations,  Pegasus, 
Parnassus,  and  Hippocrenc,  were 
all  an  abomination  to  him.     Infan- 
cy I  can  almost  hear  him  now  ex- 
claiming, "  Harp?  harp?  lyre?  Pen 
and  ink,  boy,  you  mean!  Muse, boy, 
muse  ?  Your  nurse's  daughter,  you 
mean!  Pierian   spring?    Oh!  aye! 
the  cloister  pump,    I    suppose !" 
Nay,  certain  introductions,similes, 
and    examples,   were    placed     by 
name  on  a  list  of  interdiction.    A- 
mong  the  similes,  there  was,  I  re- 
member, that  of  the  manchineel 
fruit,  as  suiting  equally  well  with 
too  many  subjects  :  in  which,  how- 
ever, it  yielded  the  palm  at  once 
to  the  example  of  Alexander  and 
Clytus,    which    was   equally   good 
and   apt  whatever    might   be   the 
theme.     Was  it  ambition  ?  Alex- 
ander    and     Clytns  !  —  Flattery? 
Alexander   and   Clytns! — Anger? 
drunkenness?    pride?   friendship? 
ingratitude  ?    late   repentance  ? — 
Still,  still  Alexander  and   Clytus! 
At  length,  the  praises  of  agricul- 
ture having   been   exemplified   in 
the     sagacious    observation,     that 
had  Alexander  been   holding  the 
plough,  he  would  not  have  run  his 
friend  Clytus  through  with  a  spear, 
this  tried  and  serviceable  old  friend 
was  banished  by  public  edict  in  s.e- 
cula  seculorum.      I  have  sometimes 
ventured   to  think,  that   a   list   of 
this   kind,    or   an   index  expurgalo- 
rius  of  certain  well  known  and  ever 
returning  phrases,  both  introduc- 
tory   and    transitional,    including 
the  large  assortment  of  modest  ego- 
tisms, and  flattering  illeisms,  &c. 
&c.  might  be  hung  up  in  our  law- 
courts,  and  both  houses  of  parlia- 
ment, with  great  advantage  to  the 
public,  as  an  important  saving  oi 
Fuf.X.  Nu.LVlI. 


national  time,  an  incalculable  re- 
lief to  his  Majesty's  ministers,  but, 
above  all,  as  insuring  the  thanks 
of  country  attornies,  and  their 
clients,  who  have  private  bills  to 
carry  through  the  house. 

I  had  just  entered  on  my  seven- 
teenth 3'ear  when  the  sonnets  of 
Mr.  Bowles,  twenty  in  number,  and 
just  then  published  in  a  quarto 
pamphlet,  were  first  made  known 
and  presented  to  me  by  a  school- 
fellow who  had  quitted  us  for  the 
University,  and  who,  during  the 
whole  time  that  he  was  in  our  first 
form  (or  in  our  school  language,  a 
Grecian,)  had  been  my  patron  and 
protector.  I  refer  to  Dr.  Middle- 
ton,  the  truly  learned  and  every 
way  excellent  Bishop  of  Calcutta. 

It  was  a  double  pleasure  to  me, 
and  still  remains  a  tender  recollec- 
tion, that  I  should  have  received 
from  a  friend  so  revered  the  first 
knowledge  of  a  poet,  by  whose 
works,  year  after  year,  I  was  so 
enthusiastically  delighted  and  in- 
spired. My  earliest  acquaintances 
will  not  have  forgotten  the  undis- 
ciplined eagerness  and  impetuous 
zeal  with  which  I  laboured  to 
make  proselytes,  not  only  of  my 
companions,  but  of  all  with  whom 
I  conversed,  of  whatever  rank,  and 
in  whatever  place.  As  my  school 
finances  did  not  permit  me  to  pur- 
chase copies,  I  made,  within  less 
than  a  year  and  an  half,  more  than 
forty  transcriptions,  as  the  best 
presents  I  could  offer  to  those  who 
had  in  anyway  won  my  regard; 
and  with  almost  equal  delight  did 
I  receive  the  three  or  four  follow- 
ing publications  of  the  same  au- 
thor. 

Though  I  have  seen  and  known 
enough   of   mankind   to    be    well 
A   A 


174 


THli    KAHLY    LfWi    OF    A   POL.T. 


aware,  that  I  shall  perhaps  stand 
alone  in  my  creed,  and  that  it  will 
he  well  if  I  subject  myself  to  no 
worse  charge  than  that  of  singu- 
larity ;  I  am  not  therefore  deterred 
from  avowing,  thut  I  regard,  and 
ever  have  regarded,  the  obligations 
of  intellect  among  the  most  sacred 
of  the  claims  of  gratitude.  A  va- 
luable thought,  or  a  particular 
train  of  thoughts,  gives  me  addi- 
tional pleasure,  when  I  can  safely 
refer  and  attribute  it  to  the  con- 
versation or  correspondence  of 
another.  My  obligations  to  Mr. 
Bowles  were  indeed  important,  and 
for  radical  good.  At  a  very  pre- 
mature age,  even  before  my  fif- 
teenth year,  I  had  bewildered  my- 
self in  metaphysics,  and  in  theo- 
logical controversy.  Nothing  else 
pleased  me.  History,  and  parti- 
cular facts,  lost  ail  interest  in  my 
mind.  Poetry  (though  for  a  school- 
boy of  that  age,  I  was  above  par 
in  English  versification,  and  had 
already  produced  two  or  three 
compositions  which,  I  may  venture 
to  say,  without  reference  to  my 
ao-e,  were  somewhat  above  medi- 
ocrity,  and  which  had  gained  me 
more  credit,  than  the  sound,  good 
sense  of  my  old  master  was  at  all 
pleased  with);  poetry  itself,  yea  no- 
vels and  romances,  became  insipid 
to  me.  In  my  friendless  wander- 
ings on  our  leave-day  a*  (for  I  was 
an  orphan,  and  had  scarce  any 
connectionsin  London),  highly  was 
I  delighted  if  any  passenger,  espe- 
cially if  he  were  dressed  in  black, 
would  enter  into  conversation  with 
me;  for  I  soon    found  the   means 

*  The  Christ  Hospital  phrase,  not  for 
holidays  altogether,  but  for  those  on 
which  the  boys  are  permitted  to  go  be- 
yond the  pr&cJQCls  of  the  school. 


of  directing  it  to  my  favourite  sub- 
jects : 

Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 
Fix'd  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute, 
And  found   no  end,  in  wandering  mazL-s  lost. 

This  preposterous  pursuit  was,  be- 
yond doubt,  injurious  both  to  my 
natural  powers  and  to  the  pro- 
gress of  my  education.  It  would 
perhaps  have  been  destructive,  had 
it  been  continued  ;  but  from  this  I 
was  auspiciously  withdrawn,  partly 
indeed  by  an  accidental  introduc- 
tion to  an  amiable  family  ;  chiefly, 
however,  by  the  genial  influence 
of  a  style  of  poetry,  so  tender,  and 
yet  so  manly,  so  natural  and  real, 
and  }<et  so  dignified  and  harmo- 
nious, as  the  sonnets,  &c.  of  Mr. 
Bowles.  Well  were  it  for  me,  per- 
haps, had  I  never  relapsed  into 
the  same  mental  disease ;  if  I  had 
continued  to  pluck  the  flower,  and 
reap  the  harvest  from  the  cultivated 
surface,  instead  of  delving  in  the 
unwholesome  quicksilver  mines  of 
metaphvsic  depths.  But  if  in  af- 
ter time  I  have  sought  a  refuge 
from  bodily  pain  and  mismanaged 
sensibility  in  abstruse  researches, 
which  exercised  the  strength  and 
subtlety  of  the  understanding  with- 
out awakening  the  feelings  of  the 
beart;  still  there  was  a  long  and 
blessed  interval,  during  which  my 
natural  faculties  were  allowed  to 
expand,  and  my  original  tenden- 
cies to  develope  themselves — my 
fancy,  and  the  love  of  nature,  and 
the  sense  of  beauty  in  forms  and 
sounds. 

The  second  advantage  which  I 
owe  to  my  early  perusal  and  ad- 
miration of  these  poems  (to  which 
let  me  add,  though  known  to  w.e 
at  a  somewhat  later  period,  the 
Lewsdon  Hill  of  Mr.  Crow,)  bears 


ARCTIC    2'OOI.OGY. 


175 


more  immediately  on  my  present 
ct.  Among  those  with  whom 
]  conversed,  there  were,  of  course, 
yecy  many  who  had  formed  their 
.  and  their  notions  of  poetry, 
from  the  writings  of  Mr.  Pope  and 
his  followers;  or  tospenk  mOrege- 
'.'.y.  in  that  school  of  French 
poetry,  con  densed  and  invigorated 
by  English  under>tamlin  g,  which 
had  ])r .dominated  from  the  last 
century.  I  was  not  blind  to  the 
merits  of  this  school,  }-et  as,  from 
inexperience  of  the  world,  and 
consequent  want  of  sympathy  with 
the  general  subjects  of  these  po- 
ems, they  o;ave  me  little  pleasure, 
I  doubtless  undervalued  the  kind, 
and  with  the  presumption  of  youth 
withheld  from  its  masters  the  legi- 
timate name  of  poets.  I  saw  that 
the  excellence  of  this  kind  consist- 
ed in  just  and  acute  observations 
on  men  and  manners  to  an  artifi- 
cial state  of  society,  as  its  matter 
and  substan.ee;  and  in  the  logic 
of  wit,  conveyed  in  smooth  and 
strongepigrammatie  couplets,  as  its 
form.  Even  when  the  subject  was 
addressed  to  the  fancy,  or  the  in- 
tellect, as    in    the   "   Raoe  of  the 


Lock,"  or  the  M  Essay  on  Man  ;" 
nay,  when  it  was  a  consecutive 
narration,  as  in  that  astonishing 
product  of  matchless  talent  and 
ingenuity,  Pope's  translation  of 
the  Iliad;  still  a  pqint  was  looked 
for  at  the  end  of  each  second  line, 
and  the  whole  was  as  it  were  a  so- 
rites, or,  if  I  may  exchange  a  lo- 
gical for  a  grammatical  metaphor, 
a  con;  unci  ion  disjunct  ive3  of  epi- 
grams. Mean  time  the  matter  and 
... 
diction  seemed  to  me  characterized 

not  so  much  by  poetic  thoughts,  as 
by  thoughts  translated  into  the  lan- 
guage of  poetry.  On  this  last 
point,  I  had  occasion  to  render  my 
own  thoughts  gradually  more  and 
more  plain  to  myself,  by  frequent 
amicable  disputes  concerning  Dar- 
win's Botanic  Garden,  which,  for 
some  years,  was  greatly  extolled, 
not  only  by  the  reading  public  in 
o-eneral,  but  even  by  those  whose 
genius  and  natural  robustness  of 
understanding  enabled  them  after- 
wards to  act  foremost  in  dissipating 
those  "  painted  mists"  that  occa- 
sionally rise  from  the  marshes  at 
the  foot  of  Parnassus. 

(To  be  continued.) 


ARCTIC  ZOOLOGY. 

(From  Scoiif.sby's  Arctic  Regions.) 

[EitRONi.ous  opinions  have  been  bergen  fishery  was  discovered  ;  and 
entertained  respecting  the  whale  I  may  also  remark,  that  where  any 
(the  Balczna  Myxlicetus)  having  respectable  aaithority  alfords  actual 
been  of  a  much  larger  size  in  for-  measurements  exceeding  70  feet, 
mer  times  than  now:  from  a  com-  it  will  always  be  found  that  the 
pari  son  of  the  preceding  accounts  specimen  referred  to  was  not  one 
of  all  crediblewitnesses,  the  author  of  the  Mysticetus  kind,  but  ol  the 
says:]  ;   Li.  P/i]/sa/is  or  the    B.  Museu/u>, 

Hence  I  conceive  we  may  satis-  animals  which  considerably  exceed 
factorily  conclude,  that  whales  of  in  length  any  ofthecommon  whales 
as  large  size  are  found  now,  as  at  '  that  I  have  either  heard  of,  or 
any  former  period  since  the  Spitz-  :  metwith.  When  fully  grown, there- 

A  a  2 


176 


ARCTIC    ZOOLOGY. 


fore,  the  length  of  the  whale  may 
be  stated  as  varying  from  50  to  65, 
and  rarely,  if  ever,  reaching  70 
feet;  and  its  greatest  circumfer- 
ence from  30  to  40  feet.  It  is 
thickest  a  little  behind  the  fins,  or 
in  the  middle,  between  the  ante- 
rior and  posterior  extremes  of  the 
animal;  from  whence  it  gradually 
tapers  in  a  conical  form  towards 
the  tail,  and  slightly  towards  the 
head.  Its  form  is  cylindrical  from 
the  neck  to  within  ten  feet  of  the 
tail,  be}rond  which  it  becomes 
somewhat  quadrangular,  the  great- 
est ridge  being  upward,  or  on  the 
back,  and  running  backward  near- 
ly across  the  middle  of  the  tail. 
The  head  has  somewhat  of  a  trian- 
gular shape.  The  under  part,  the 
arched  outline  of  which  is  given 
by  the  jaw-bones,  is  flat,  and  mea- 
sures 16  to  20  feet  in  length,  and 
10  to  1 2  in  breadth.  The  lips,  ex- 
tending 15  or  20  feet  in  length,  and 
5  or  6  in  height,  and  forming  the 
cavity  of  the  mouth,  are  attached 
to  the  under  jaw,  and  rise  from  the 
jaw-bones  at  an  angle  of  about 
80  degrees,  having  the  appearance, 
when  viewed  in  front,  of  the  let- 
ter U.  The  upperjaw,  including 
the  crown-bone,  or  skull,  is  bent 
down  at  the  extremity,  so  as  to 
shut  the  front  and  upper  parts  of 
the  cavity  of  the  mouth,  and  is 
overlapped  by  the  lips  in  a  squa- 
mous manner  at  the  sides.  When 
the  mouth  is  open,  it  presents  a 
cavity  as  large  as  a  room,  and  ca- 
pable of  containing  a  merchant- 
ship's  jolly-boat,  full  of  men,  be- 
ing 6  or  8  feet  wide,  10  or  12  feet 
high  (in  front),  and  15  or  16  feet 
long.  The  fins,  two  in  number, 
are  placed  between  one-third  and 
two  fifths  of  the  length  of  the  ani- 


mal, from  the  snout,  and  about 
two  feet  behind  the  angle  of  the 
mouth.  They  are  7  to  9  feet  in 
length,  and  4  or  5  in  breadth.  The 
part  by  which  they  are  attached  to 
the  body  is  somewhat  elliptical, 
and  about  2  feet  in  diameter;  the 
side  which  strikes  the  water  is  near- 
ly flat.  The  articulation  being 
perfectly  spherical,  the  fins  are 
capable  of  motion  in  any  direction; 
but,  from  the  tension  of  the  flesh 
and  skin  below,  they  cannot  be 
raised  above  the  horizontal  posi- 
tion. Hence  the  account  given  by 
some  naturalists,  that  the  whale 
supports  its  young  by  its  fins,  on 
its  back,  must  be  erroneous.  The 
fins,  after  death,  are  always  hard 
and  stiff;  but,  in  the  living  ani- 
mal, it  is  presumed,  from  the  na- 
ture of  the  internal  structure,  that 
they  are  capable  of  considerable 
flexion.  The  whale  has  no  dorsal 
fin.  The  tail,  comprising,  in  a 
single  surface,  80  or  100  square 
feet,  is  a  formidable  instrument  of 
motion  and  defence.  Its  length  is 
only  5  or  6  feet;  but  its  width 
is  IS  to  24  or  26  feet.  Its  position 
is  horizontal.  In  its  form  it  is  flat 
and  semi-lunar;  indented  in  the 
middle  ;  the  two  lobes  somewhat 
pointed,  and  turned  a  little  back- 
ward. Its  motions  are  rapid  and 
universal ;  its  strength  immense. 
The  eyes  are  situated  in  the  sides 
of  the  head,  about  afoot  oblique- 
ly above  and  behind  the  angle  of 
the  mouth.  They  are  remarkably 
small  in  proportion  to  the  bulk  of 
the  animal's  body,  being  little  lar- 
ger than  those  of  an  ox.  The 
whale  has  no  external  ear;  nor  can 
any  orifice  for  the  admission  of 
sound  be  discovered  until  the  skin 
I  is  removed. 


AIU.TIC    ZOOLOGY. 


177 


On  the  most  elevated  part  of  the 
head,  about  16  feet  Croon  the  ante- 
rior extremity  of  the  jaw,  are  si- 
tuated the  blow-holes,  or  spiracles, 
consisting  of  two  longitudinal 
apertures  6  or  8  inches  in  length. 
These  are  the  proper  nostrils  of 
the  whale.  A  moist  vapour,  mixed 
with  mucus,  is  discharged  from 
them  when  the  animal  breathes; 
but  no  water  accompanies  it,  un- 
less an  expiration  of  the  breath  be 
made  under  the  surface. 

The   mouth,  in  place   of  teeth, 
contains    two    extensive    rows    of 
"  fins,"  or  whalebone,  which  are 
suspended   from  the  sides  of   the 
crown-bone.     These  series  of  fins 
are  generally  curved  longitudinal-  !J 
ly,  although   they   are    sometimes 
Straight,  and  give  an  arched  form 
to  the  roof  of  the  mouth.     They 
are   covered   immediately    by  the 
lips  attached  to  the  lower  jaw,  and 
inclose  the  tongue  between  their 
lower  extremities.     Each  series,  or  ' 
"  side  of  bone,"  as  the  whalefish- 
ers  term  it,  consists  of  upwards  of  ' 
three  hundred  laminae:  the  Ion g- 
est    are    near    the    middle,    from 
whence   they    gradually    diminish  ; 
away  to  nothing  at  each  extremity,  i 
Fifteen  feet  is  the  greatest  length  i 
of  the   whalebone;  but    10  or    11 
feet  is   the    average  size,  and    13  j 
feet  is   a   magnitude   seldom   met 
with.    The  greatest  breadth,  which 
is  at  the  gum,  is    10  or   12   inches. 
The   laminae,  composing   the  two  I 
series  of  bone,  are  ranged  side  by 
side,  two- thirds    of  an  inch  apart 
(thickness  of  the  blade  included),  || 
and  resemble  a  frame  of  saws  in  a 
saw-mill.     The  interior  edges  are 
covered  with  a  fringe  of  hair,  and 
the  exterior  edge  of  every  blade, 
excepting  a  few  at  each  extremity 


of  the  series,  is  curved  and  flat- 
tened down,  so  as  to  present  a 
smooth  surface  to  the  lips.  In  some 
whales,  a  curious  hollow  on  one 
side,  and  ridge  on  the  other,  oc- 
curs in  many  of  the  central  blades 
of  whalebone,  at  regular  intervals 
of  6  or  7  inches.  May  not  this  ir- 
regularity, like  the  rings  in  the 
horns  of  the  ox,  which  they  resem- 
ble, afford  an  intimation  of  the 
age  of  the  whale  ?  If  so,  twice  the 
number  of  running  feet  in  the 
longest  lamina  of  whalebone  in 
the  head  of  a  whale  not  full  grown, 
would  represent  its  age  in  years. 
In  the  youngest  whales,  called 
Suckers,  the  whalebone  is  only  a 
few  inches  long;  when  the  length 
reaches  6  feet  or  upwards,  the 
whale  is  said  to  be  size.  The  co- 
lour of  the  whalebone  is  brownish 
black,  or  bluish-black.  In  some 
animals,  it  is  striped  longitudinal- 
ly with  white.  When  newly  clean- 
ed, the  surface  exhibits  a  fine 
play  of  colour.  A  large  whale 
sometimes  affords  a  ton  and  a  half 
of  whalebone.  If  the  "  sample 
blade,"  that  is,  the  largest  lamina 
in  the  series,  weigh  7  pounds,  the 
whole  produce  may  be  estimated 
at  a  ton  ;  and  so  on  in  proportion. 
The  whalebone  is  inserted  into  the 
crown-bone,  in  a  sort  of  rabbet. 
All  the  blades  in  the  same  series 
are  connected  together  by  the  gum, 
in  which  the  thick  ends  are  insert- 
ed. This  substance  (the  gum)  is 
white,  fibrous,  tender,  and  taste- 
less. It  cuts  like  cheese.  It  has 
the  appearance  of  the  interior  or 
kernel  of  the  cocoa-nut. 

The  tongue  occupies  a  large 
proportion  of  the  cavity  of  the 
mouth  and  the  arch  formed  by  the 
whalebone.    It  is  incapable  of  pro- 


1  -~o 


ARCTIC    ZOOLOGY. 


trusion,  being  fixed,  from  root  to 
tip,  to  the  fat  extending  between 
the  jaw-bones.  A  slight  beard, 
consisting  of  a  short  scattered 
white  hair,  surmounts  the  anterior 
extremity  of  both  jaws.  The  throat 
is  remarkably  straight. 

Two  paps  in  the  female  afford 
the  means  of  rearing  its  young. 
The  milk  of  the  whale  resembles 
that  of  quadrupeds  in  its  appear- 
ance. It  is  said  to  be  rich  and 
well -flavoured. 

Immediately   beneath    the    skin 
lies  the  blubber  or  fat,  encompass- 
ing the  whole  body  of  the  animal, 
together  with  the  fins  and  tail.     Its 
colour  is  yellowish  white,  yellow, 
or  red.     In  the  very  young  animal 
it  is  always    yellowish-white.     In 
some  old  animals,  it  resembles  in 
colour  the  substance  of  the  salmon. 
It  swims  in   water.     Its   thickness 
all   round  the   body  is  8  or   10  to 
20    inches,  varying    in     different 
parts  as  well  as  in  different  indivi- 
duals.    The  lips  are  composed  al- 
most entirely  of  blubber,  and  yield 
from  one  to  two  tons  of  pure  oil 
each.     The  tongue  is  chiefly  com- 
posed  of  a   soft  kind   of  fat,  that 
aifords     less    oil    than     any    other 
blubber :    in     the    centre    of   the 
tongue,  and  towards  the  root,  this 
fat  is  intermixed  with  fibres  of  a 
muscular  substance.     The   under 
jaw,  excepting  the  two  jaw-bones, 
consists  almost  wholly  of  fat;  and 
the  crown -bone  possesses  a  consi- 
derable coating  of  it.     The  fins  are 
principally  blubber,  tendons,  and 
bones;    and  the    tail    possesses   a 
thin  stratum  of  blubber.     The  oil 
appears  to  be  retained  in  the  blub- 
ber in  minute  cells,  connected  to- 
gether by  a  strong  reticulated  com- 
bination of  tendinous  fibres.     The 


blubber,  in  its  fresh  state,  is  with- 
out any  unpleasant  smell  ;  and  it 
is  not  until  after  the  termination  of 
the  voyage,  when  the  cargo  is  un- 
stowed,  that  a  Greenland  ship  be- 
comes disagreeable. 

Four  tons  of  blubber,  by  mea- 
sure, generally  afford  three  tons  of 
oil;  but  the  blubber  of  a  sucker 
contains  a  very  small  proportion. 
Whales  have  been  caught  that  af- 
forded nearly  thirty  tons  of  pure 
oil  ;  and  whales  yielding  twenty 
tons  of  oil  are  by  no  means  un- 
common. The  quantity  of  oil 
yielded  by  a  whale  generally 
bears  a  certain  proportion  to  the 
length  of  its  longest  blade  of 
whale-bone. 

A  stout  whale  of  60  feet  in 
length  is  of  the  enormous  weight 
of  seventy  tons ;  the  blubber 
weighs  about  thirty  tons;  the  bones 
of  the  head,  whalebone,  fins  and 
tail,  eight  or  ten  ;  carcase  thirty  or 
thirty-two. 

The  flesh  of  the  young  whale  is 
of  a  red  colour;  and  when  cleared 
of  fat,  broiled,  and  seasoned  with 
pepper  and  salt,  does  not  eat  un- 
like coarse  beef;  that  of  the  old 
whale  approaches  to  black,  and  is 
exceedingly  coarse.  An  immense 
bed  of  muscles  surrounding  the  bo- 
dy, is  appropriated  chiefly  to  the 
movements  of  the  tail. 

The  number  of  ribs,  according 
to  Sir  Charles  Giesecke,  is  thirteen 
on  each  side.  The  bones  of  the 
fins  are  analogous,  both  in  pro- 
portion and  number,  to  those  of 
the  fingers  of  the  human  hand. 
From  this  peculiarity  of  structure, 
the  fins  have  been  denominated  by 
Dr.  Flemming,  "  swimming  paws." 
The  posterior  extremity  of  the 
whale,  however,   is  a  real  tail;  the 


ARCTIC    ZOOLOGY. 


179 


termination  of  the  spine,  or  as  rnc- 
Ofgisj  running-  through tbe  middle 

of  it  almost  Co  the  edge. 

The  whale  seems  dull  of  hearing. 
A  noise  in  the  air,  such  as  that  pro- 
duced  hy  a  person  shouting,  is  not 
noticed  by  it,thoughatthedistance 
only  of  a  ship's  length  ;  but  a  very 
slight  splashing  in  the  water,  in 
calm  weather,  excites  its  attention 
and  alarms  it.  Its  sense  of  seeing 
is  acute.  Whales  are  observed  to 
discover  one  another,  in  clear  wa- 
ter, when  under  the  surface,  at  an 
amazing  distance.  When  at  the 
surface,  however,  they  do  not  see 
far.  They  have  no  voice;  but  in 
breathing  or  bjowingi  they  make  a 
very  loud  noise.  The  vapour  they 
discharge  is  ejected  to  the  height 
of  some  yards,  and  appears  at  a  dis- 
tance like  a  puff  of  smoke.  When 
the  animals  are  wounded,  it  is  oft- 
en stained  with  blood;  and,  on  the 
approach  of  death,  jets  of  blood 
are  sometimes  discharged  alone. 
They  blow  strongest,  densest,  and 
loudest  when  "  running,"  when  in 
a  state  of  alarm,  or  when  they  first 
appear  at  the  surface,  after  being 
a  long  time  down.  They  respire 
or  blow  about  four  or  five  times  a 
minute. 

The  usual  rate  at  which  whales 
swim,  even  when  they  are  on  their 
passage  from  one  situation  to  an- 
other, seldom  exceeds  four  miles 
an  hour;  and  though,  when  urged 
by  the  sight  of  any  enemy,  or 
alarmed  by  the  stroke  of  a  harpoon, 
their  extreme  velocity  may  be  at 
the  rate  of  eight  or  nine  miles  an 
hour;  yet  we  find  this  speed  never 


continues  longer  than  for  a  few  mi- 
nutes, before  it  relaxes  almost  to 
one  half.  Hence,  for  the  space  of 
a  few  minutes,  they  are  capable  of 
dan  tug  through  the  water  with 
the  velocity  almost  of  the  fastest 
ship  under  sail,  and  of  ascending 
with  such  rapidity  as  to  leap  en- 
tirely out  of  the  water.  This  feat 
they  sometimes  perform  as  an 
amusement  apparently,  to  the  high 
admiration  of  the  distant  specta- 
tor ;  but  to  the  no  small  terror  of 
the  inexperienced  fishers,  who, 
even  under  such  circumstances, 
are  often  ordered,  by  the  foolhar- 
dy  harpooner,  to  M  pull  away"  to 
the  attack.  Sometimes  the  whales 
throw  themselves  into  a  perpendi- 
cular posture,  with  their  head 
downward,  and  rearing  their  talis 
on  high  in  the  air,  beat  the  water 
with  awful  violence.  In  both  these 
cases  the  sea  is  thrown  into  foam, 
and  the  air  filled  with  vapours  : 
the  noise,  in  calm  weather,  is  heard 
to  a  great  distance  ;  and  the  con- 
centric waves  produced  by  the 
concussions  on  the  water,  are  com- 
municated abroad  to  a  consider- 
able extent.  Sometimes  thewlude 
shakes  its  tremendous  tail  in  the 
air,  which,  cracking  like  a  whip, 
resounds  to  the  distance  of  two  or 
three  miles. 

When  it  retires  from  the  sur- 
face, it  first  lifts  its  head,  then 
plunging  it  under  water,  elevates 
its  back  like  the  segment  of  a 
sphere,  deliberately  rounds  it  away 
towards  the  extremity,  throws  its 
tail  out  of  the  water,  and  then  dis- 
appears. 


180 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON  FASHIONS. 


PLATE    16. — COTTAGE   DRESS. 

A  round  dress,  composed  of 
drab-coloured  bombasine :  the  skirt 
is  of  a  moderate  width;  it  is  finish- 
ed at  the  bottom  by  a  full  plaiting 
of  peacb-coloured  satin  ribbon, 
above  which  is  a  simple  but  taste- 
ful trimming  of  the  same  material ; 
it  is  arranged  in  puffs  of  different 
forms,  which  are  placed  alternate- 
ly. The  body  is  cut  low ;  the  waist 
of  the  usual  length;  the  back  mo- 
derately wide,  tight  to  the  shape, 
and  a  good  deal  sloped  at  the  sides. 
The  bust  is  ornamented  with  a 
twisted  band  of  white  and  peach- 
coloured  satin.  Plain  long  sleeve, 
of  an  easy  width,  finished  at  the 
hand  by  a  rouleau  cuff,  also  of  satin 
to  correspond.  A  peasant's  apron 
of  the  same  material  as  the  sown 
finishes  the  dress;  it  is  very  taste- 
fully trimmed  with  a  narrow  rou- 
leau composed  of  peach-coloured 
satin  laid  on  in  waves;  the  point 
of  each  wave  is  finished  by  a  satin 
rosette  to  correspond.  The  bust 
is  partially  shaded  by  a  peach-co- 
loured handkerchief,  which  is  tied 
carelessly  round  the  throat,  Head- 
dress, a  cottage-hat ;  the  crown  re- 
sembles a  man's:  the  brim  is  of  a 
moderate  size;  it  is  broader  in  front 
than  behind,  and  is  bent  down  a 
little  over  the  forehead:  the  brim 
and  the  top  of  the  crown  have  a 
slight  edging  of  peach-coloured 
satin.  A  band  of  rich  ribbon  to 
correspond  encircles  the  bottom  of 
the  crown  ;  a  full  bow  is  placed  on 
one  side,  and  strings,  which  are 
put  rather  far  back,  fasten  it  under 
the  chin. 


FLATL  17. — HALL  DRESS. 
A  slip  composed  of  pale  pink 
satin,  finished  at  the  bottom  with 
a  light  wreath  of  artificial  corn- 
flowers mixed  with  ears  of  ripe 
wheat;  this  is  surmounted  by  a 
trimming  composed  of  pearls  em- 
broidered in  ornaments,  which  re- 
semble a  little  the  shape  of  the 
prince's  plume  ;  they  are  scattered 
irregularly,  and  do  not  come  high  : 
the  effect  of  this  trimming  is  strik- 
ing and  novel.  The  robe  is  com- 
posed of  white  lace;  it  is  open  on 
the  left  side,  is  edged  with  pearls, 
and  is  looped  all  round  with  knots 
of  pearl  and  bouquets  of  field- 
flowers,  which  are  placed  alter- 
nately. The  corsage  is  of  mode- 
rate length,  tight  to  the  shape,  and 
a  little  peaked  behind  ;  the  bust  is 
ornamented  with  a  stomacher  com- 
posed of  pink  satin,  richly  deco- 
rated with  pearls.  The  form  of 
this  stomacher  is  very  novel :  it  \s 
the  entire  width  of  the  bust  in 
front,  and  is  sloped  down  on  each 
side  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form 
the  shape  of  the  bosom  very  sym- 
metrically ;  it  terminates  in  two 
small  tabs.  A  little  bouquet  of 
roses  ornaments  the  left  shoulder. 
Short  sleeves,  composed  of  white 
lace  over  pink  satin ;  they  are 
slashed  in  the  Spanish  style.  The 
hair  is  dressed  moderately  high  be- 
hind; it  is  fastened  up  in  bows  in- 
termixed with  braids.  The  front 
hair  is  very  little  displayed;  it  is 
parted  on  the  forehead,  which  is 
left  almost  bare,  and  disposed  in  a 
few  loose  ringlets,  that  fall  ver}T  low 
on    each   side   of  the   face.     The 


COTT-Aj&E    bees  s  . 


&ACXt-RMAMXsJt£Pi>mGJUrofAKrS&ic.ftcb?tS,vtr2.i02o. 


AILIL      iDJRESS 


GENERAL    ODSERVATIOXS    OX    FAS  HI  OX    AXD    DIlKSS. 


1BI 


head-dress  is  composed  of  flowers;  I]  We  cannot  indeed  wonder  at  this, 
■  wreath  of  roses,  placed  low  on  the  !  when  we  reflect  upon  the  charac- 
forehead,  goes  round  the  head,  and  jj  ter  of  the  lamented  Duchess,  who 


is  surmounted  by  a  half-garland, 
composed  of  fancy  flowers,  placed 
on  the  crown  of  the  head  Neck- 
lace and  ear-rings,  pearl.  White 
kid  gloves,  and  white  corded  silk 
shoes. 

We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
point,  inventress  of  the  corset  a  la 


united  to  manners  the  most  con- 
descending and  amiable,  every 
virtue  that  could  adorn  her  exalted 
station.  Though  deprived  fur  a 
considerable  time  before  her  death, 
by  the  state  of  her  health,  of  almost 
even*  enjoyment  of  existence,  yet 
her  pure  and  beneficent  spirit  was 


(jrccqve,  No.  9,  Henrietta-street,    to  the  last  unremitting  in  the  prac- 

Covent  -  Garden,    for   both    these j   tice  of  that  benevolence  which  had 
dresses.  I   marked  her  whole  life. 

The  mourning  has  been  distin- 

GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  on       '  guished  in  general  by  the  display 
FASHION  and  DRESS.  I  of  more  taste,  than  the  sombre  li- 

The  melancholy  event  of  her  j  very  of  woe  usually  admits  of;  the 
Roval  Highness  the  Duchess  of  j  mixture  of  black  and  white  has 
York's  death,  which  took  place  .  been  very  general.  In  the  corn- 
early  in  August,  has  caused  a  delay  j  mencement,  the  trimmings  were 
in  the  autumnal  fashions.  The  I  almost  all  white;  after  the  first 
court  mourning  ordered  for  her!  change,  we  noticed  many  bodies 
Royal  Highness  was,  in  considera-  j  composed  of  a  mixture  of  black 
tion,  we  presume,  for  the  interests  silk  and  white  crape,  with  white 
of  trade,  of  a  shorter  continuance  crape  sleeves;  the  skirts  were  hlack 
than  the  public  expected:  it  com-  ;  silk,  with  very  deep  and  full  trim- 
menced  on  the  13th  of  August,  and  mings  of  white  crape.  Ruches, 
will  terminate  on  the  3d  of  Sep-  flounces,  and  bouilloimtes,  seemed 
tember.  The  materials  ordered  by  equally  in  favour.  "White  orna- 
the  Lord  Chamberlain  were,  for  ments  in  the  hair  were  also  very 
dress,  black  silk,  with  plain  muslin,  j  general.  Pearls  and  flowers  seem- 
long  lawn,  crape,  or  love  hoods;  ed  equally  in  request.  In  some 
black  silk  shoes,  black  glazed  j  instances,  we  noticed  wreaths  cotn- 
gloves,  and  hlack  paper  fans.  For  posed  of  marabout  down,  but  they 
head-dress,  black  or  grey  unwater-  j  were  not  very  general, 
ed  tabbies.  The  mourning  chang-  As  few  orders  have  yet  been 
ed  to  black  silk,  with  white  gloves  given  for  the  dresses  which  are  to 
and  ornaments,  on  the  29th;  and  ;  succeed  the  mourning,  we  must 
on  the  31st,  to  black  silk  with  co-  speak  of  the  approaching  change 
loured  ribbons,  and  white  and  sil-  j:  principally  from  conjecture.  The 
ver  or  gold  stuffs  with  black  rib-  ||  month  of  September  is  in  general 
bons.  ||  a  blank  in  the  annals  of  fashion; 

The  mourning  was  ordered  only  j!  the  changes  which  take  place  are 
for  the  court,  but  it  was  neverthe-  li  in  fact  characterized  only  by  sim- 
less  general  with  all  persons  who  j  plicity.  Our  fair  fashionables,  in 
had   any  pretensions    to   fashiou.  (|  leaving  the  metropolis  for  a  time, 

V<i\.  X.  IVa.  LVII.  B  B 


182 


FRENCH    FKMALE    FASHIONS. 


bid  also  a  temporary  adieu  to  the 
cares  of  the  toilet,  and  in  attiring 
themselves  with  elegant  simplicity 
and  graceful  negligence,  they  fre- 
quently appear  more  lovely,  than 
when  armed  for  conquest  in  all  the 
pride  of  dress. 

Washing  silks  and  coloured 
muslins  are  likely,  we  understand, 
to  be  a  good  deal  worn  in  dishabille: 
the  latter  began  to  be  in  general 
estimation  just  as  the  mourning 
commenced :  they  were  sprigged 
with  worsted  in  a  very  small  pat- 
tern, and  ornamented  with  floun- 
ces, usualty  worked  in  a  light  wreath 
at  the  edge,  to  correspond  in  colour 
with  the  sprigs  of  the  dress.  The 
bodies  were  high,  and  made  in  ge- 
neral to  fasten  behind. 

A  dress  corsage  has  recently  ap- 
peared, which,  we  think,  is  very 
likely  to  be  worn  in  colours:  it  is 
an  intermixture  of  satin  and  lace; 
the  satin  is  disposed  in  the  form  of 
a  brace ;  it  crosses  behind,  with  a 
full  rosette  in  the  middle  of  the 
back:  the  upper  part  of  the  bust 
is  composed  entirely  of  lace;  it  is 
formed  in  the  corset  style,  that  is 
to  say,  with  a  little  fulness;  a  dou- 
ble row  of  narrow  blond  falls  over 
the  bust,  and  is  headed  by  a  chain 
of  very  narrow  ribbon  of  two  co- 


ll lours  plaited  together.  The  sleeves 
are  composed  of  lace ;  they  are 
very  full,  but  the  fulness  is  confined 
and  formed  into  puffs  by  deep 
points  of  satin,  which  reach  from 
the  top  of  the  shoulder  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sleeve,  where  each  point 
terminates  with  a  button,  composed 
either  of  silk  or  pearl.  The  points 
are  edged  with  very  narrow  blond. 

The  hair  is  now  dressed  with 
great  simplicity,  and  much  lower 
than  we  remember  it  for  some  sea- 
sons back,  very  little  display  being 
made  either  of  the  front  or  hind 
hair.  We  still  see  youthful  and 
middle-aged  belles  appear  en  che- 
veux;  toques  are  rarely  worn,  and 
turbans  only  by  those  ladies  who 
are  very  far  advanced  in  life.  The 
cottage  dress  which  we  have  given 
in  our  print,  will,  we  flatter  our- 
selves, appear  to  our  fair  readers  a 
becoming  and  appropriate  home 
costume  for  the  present  season  :  it 
has  been  made  for  a  lady  whose 
taste  in  dress  is  generally  consi- 
dered as  unrivalled. 

Drab  colour,  pale  pink,  peach- 
blossom,  pomona  -  green,  poppy, 
violet,  and  straw-colour,  are  most 
likely  to  be  in  favour  during  the 
ensuing  month. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS 

Paris,  August  20. 


My  dear  Sophia, 

As  your  court  mourning  for 
the  late  amiable  and  lamented 
Duchess  of  York  is  to  be  of  such 


cerely  regretted,  and  the  last 
mournful  tribute  of  respect  to  her 
memory  universally  paid  by  all 
our  countrywomen  of  any  distinc- 
tion.    She  was  indeed  deservedly 


a  short  duration,  I  need  not  enter  I  popular,  if  the  practice  of  every 
into    any  detail    of   the  mourning  j  gentle   and    feminine   virtue    can 


worn  by  Englishwomen  of  fashion 
here  for  her  Royal  Highness.  Her 
loss,  as  you  may  suppose,  was  sin- 


render  a  woman  so. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  variety 
in  the  materials  adopted  at  present 


nu.iscii  i  j.mal:.  fashion*. 


]&3 


by  the  fair  Parisians  in  promenade 
dress:  notwithstanding  the  warmth 
of  the  weather,  silk  is  particularly- 
worn,  but  it  is  less  in  request  than 
muslin  :  coloured  muslins  are  very 
fashionable;  some  are  of  a  Utile 
diced  pattern,  others  striped  ;  but 
the  most  tonish  is  of  a  sort  which, 
I  think,  you  used  to  call  Japan  mus- 
lin; it  is  striped  to  resemble  lace. 
Pink,  blue,aud  lilac  are  thefavour- 
ite  colours  of  these  dresses. 

The  waists  of  dresses  are  I  think, 
upon  the  whole,  a  little  shorter  than 
when  I  wrote  last;  but  to  say  the 
truth,  it  is  so  little  as  to  be  scarcely 
perceptible :  I  have,  however,  the 
pleasure  to  tell  you,  that  we  have 
completely  left  off  our  peaked  bo- 
dies, and  I  hope  sincerely  we  shall 
not  resume  them. 

High  dresses  are  now  most  in  fa- 
vour for  the  promenade;  but,  as 
the  weather  is  still  very  warm, 
thev  are  worn  without  any  other 
covering  than  a  lace  shawl,  or  a 
muslin  canezou:  the  latter  is  a  spen- 
cer which  has  only  epaulettes,  and 
it  is  made  tight  to  the  shape;  the 
back  very  much  sloped  on  each 
side,  so  as  to  be  narrow  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  waist :  a  collar  mode- 
rately high  behind,  but  very  shal- 
low in  front,  stands  up  round  the 
throat;  it  is  finished  by  a  full  frill 
of  muslin  disposed  in  large  deep 
plaits;  a  double  fall  of  muslin  to 
correspond  goes  round  the  bottom 
of  the  waist;  and  the  epaulettes 
consist  of  a  double  flounce  of  mus- 
lin, which  is  also  plaited  to  cor- 
respond. 

High  dresses,  made  of  gros  de 
Naples  or  levantine,  are  always 
worn  without  any  covering  :  they 
are  made  a  little  in  the  habit  style ; 


the  body  buttons  up  the  front,  and 
the  collar,  which  is  very  shallow* 
falls  over.  The  $leeve  is  ah, 
tight  to  the  arm  ;  it  is  surmounted 
by  an  epaulette  formed  of  ;i  large 
rouleau  of  silk,  which  is  divided 
into  puffs  by  narrow  bands  of  silk 
placed  lengthwise.  The  bottom 
of  the  waist  is  finished  by  a  full 
double  flounce,  and  the  bottom  of 
the  sleeve  always  corresponds  with 
the  trimming  of  the  skirt. 

Our  style  of  trimming  at  present 
is  less  varied  than  I  almost  ever  re- 
member it.  Flounces  have  just 
now  superseded  everything  else; 
they  are  disposed,  it  is  true,  in  dif- 
ferent ways,  but  there  is  still  a 
sameness  in  their  appearance, which 
offends  the  eye;  because  whether 
they  are  put  on  straight  or  in  waves, 
they  are  always  formed  into  large 
deep  plaits. 

Gowns  are  no  longer  trimmed 
very  high  ;  a  great  many  are  orna- 
mented with  three  flounces  of  a 
moderate  width,  which  are  put 
pretty  close  to  each  other;  these 
flounces  are  adorned  at  the  edge 
with  three  or  four  narrow  coloured 
bands,  not  the  work  of  the  needle, 
but  of  the  loom  :  the  colours  most 
in  favour  for  these  bands  are,  lilac, 
pink,  blue,  and  citron  :  the  last  is, 
however,  less  fashionable  than  the 
three  former. 

Other  dresses  have  six  or  per- 
haps eight  very  narrow  flounces, 
set  on  so  close  to  each  other,  that 
at  a  distance  they  resemble  a  niche. 
A  triple  flounce,  disposed  in  a  ser- 
pentine direction,  is  also  fashion- 
able ;  and  one  sometimes  sees  rows 
of  puckered  muslin  placed  per- 
pendicularly between  two  double 
flounces:  this  is  the  deepest  sort  of 
B    B   2 


184 


FRF.NCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS. 


trimming  that  isworn,  as  the  puck- 
ered muslin  is  nearly  a  quarter  of 
a  yard  in  depth. 

I  must  now  speak  to  you  of  our 
cliapeaux,  the  materials  for  which 
are  various,  and  in  general  appro- 
priate :  white  and  coloured  gauze, 
crape,  silk  tissues  of  different  de- 
scriptions, white  straw,  and  white 
cotton  straw,  are  all  in  favour. 
Bonnets  have  altered  a  little  in 
shape  since  I  wrote  last;  the  crowns 
are  something  lower,  and  the  brims 
stand  still  more  out  from  the  face  : 
they  are  still  worn  long,  and  round- 
ed at  the  corners.  The  edgeof  the 
brim  is  finished  by  a  trimming- 
composed  of  gauze,  blond,  or  some- 
times silk  disposed  in  wolves'  mouths, 
or  else  a  double  bias  fold  of  gauze. 
A  small  rouleau  of  satin  frequent- 
ly forms  the  trimming  of  the  edge 
of  the  brim.  I  have  noticed  also, 
within  these  few  days,  a  good  many 
hats  adorned  only  with  a  very  nar- 
row binding  of  satin.  White  straw, 
or  white  cotton  straw,  has  seldom 
any  trimming  at  the  edge  of  the 
brim. 


hats.  Any  of  the  colours  I  have 
just  mentioned  may  be  used  to 
trim  white  chapeaax,  but  lilac  is,  I 
think,  upon  the  whole  most  preva- 
lent. Feathers  have  now  disap- 
peared ;  flowers  and  ribbons  are 
the  only  ornaments  of  hats;  and 
the  former  are  terribly  at  war  with 
Nature,  for  where  you  meet  with 
one  flower  of  the  hue  which  she 
has  given  to  it,  you  see  at  least 
half  a  dozen  of  a  colour  totally  op- 
posite; as  for  instance,  blue  roses, 
or  citron-  coloured  1  ilies.  The  flow- 
ers most  in  request  are,  tulips,  dai- 
sies, pinks,  lilac,  honeysuckle,  ro- 
ses, lilies,  and  the  whole  tribe  of 
field -flowers:  fancy  flowers  are  also 
as  much  worn  as  any  of  the  others. 
Chapcaux  are  now  ornamented 
in  a  less  redundant  style  than  usu- 
al: the  gardener's  nosegay  has  dis- 
appeared; a  moderate-sized  bou- 
quet is  substituted  in  its  stead: 
wreaths,  which  are  made  very  full 
in  front  of  the  crown  and  smaller 
behind,  are  also  worn  ;  and  crowns, 
partly  composed  of  flowers,  partly 
of  coques  of  ribbon,  are  in  highes- 


A  great  number  of  gauze  and  |J  timation  ;  as  are  also  garlands,  or 
crape  hats    are   ornamented  with  ||  wreaths  of    red  and  white    roses 


narrow  bands  of  straw  placed  across 
the  brim;  they  are  laid  on  at  a  dis- 
tance of  not  quite  an  inch  from 
each  other,  and  there  are  sometimes 
as  many  as  twenty.  The  crown  of 
the  hat  is  frequently  adorned  with 
a  drapery  of  the  same  material  as 
the  c/iapeau  is  composed  of;  it  is  a 
square  piece,  the  four  corners  of 


mingled  together. 

Morning  home  dress  forms  also 
our  promenade  costume;  that  worn 
for  dinner,  or  for  social  evening 
parties,  is  frequently  composed  of 
the  same  materials:  the  form  at 
nresentmost  prevalent  is  the  robe  a 
la  viero-e,  which  I  think  I  must  have 
described  to  you  before,  as  being 


which  are  tacked  down  to  the  sides  j  made  tight  to  the  shape,  to  fasten 
of  the  crown;  it  is  finished   with  |  behind,   and   to  display  very  little 


straw,  to  correspond  with  the  brim. 
Rose-colour,  lilap,  and  blue  are 
al  i  fas h  i o n  ab '  e  fo r  chapeu  ux ;  b  u  i  we 
se,1  upon  the  whole  a  much  greater 
j] V ruber  of  whits  than  of   coloured 


of  the  bust.  Nothing  can  be  more 
simple  than  this  dress,  nor  more 
becoming  to  a  fine  figure  i  the 
sleeve  is  nearly  tight  to  the  arm  ; 
it  has  no  epaulette,  and  is  finished 


II 


W^^T&^s^^^S^d^^s^3^ 


h 


FASHION AHLB   FURMTfRF.. 


185 


at  the  bottom  bv  a  narrow  lace  set  • 
on  almost   plain.      I  should    have 
said, that  the  bust  is  also  ornament- 
ed to  correspond. 

Those  ladies  who  prefer  low 
gowns  wear  frocks,  which  are  al- 
ways fastened  behind  ;  they  are  cut 
in  general  so  us  to  slope  a  little 
on  each  side  of  the  bosom:  the 
sleeves  are  frequently  eased  either 
with  ribbon  or  cord.  Long  sleeves 
are  universal,  except  in  grand  cos- 
tume. 

Flounces  are  as  much  worn  in  ' 
half  and  full  dress  as  in  dishabille. 
The  materials  for  full  dress  are  at  ! 
this  moment  very  light  and  appro- 
priate :  gauze  of  different  kinds, 
crape  and  tulle  over  white  satin, 
or  white  sarsnet  of  the  richest  tex- 
ture, are  all  in  request.  The 
flounces  which  decorate  the  bot- 
tom of  the  skirt  are  sometimes  of 
the  same  material,  edged  with  nar- 
row ribbon ;  but  we  see  as  often 
flounces  of  tulle  or  blond  lace  upon 
gauze  dresses:  those  of  crape  are 
always  trimmed  with  the  same  ma- 
terial. 

Our  style  of  hair-dressing  has 
not  varied  since  I  wrote  last,  but 


flowers  are  now  more  worn  than 
feathers  in  full  dress.  Many  of  our 
youthful  ilegantes  ornament  their 
hair  with  knots  of  ribbon,  which 
fasten  a  part  of  the  front  hair  in 
bows  behind;  while  the  remaining 
part  is  divided  into  two  or  three 
tresses,  which  are  wound  round  the 
head  in  a  serpentine  direction. 
The  ribbon  is  always  the  colour  of 
the  hair.  This  style  of  head-dress 
is  never  adopted  but  by  very  young 
ladies. 

Toques  begin  to  be  partially 
worn  in  full  dress  ;  the  few  that 
have  lately  appeared  are  of  silver 
gauze,  or  of  rich  white  silk  spotted 
with  silver:  they  are  made  some- 
thing higher  than  formerly;  and 
those  made  in  gauze  are  disposed 
in  full  folds  across  the  top  of  the 
crown;  a  band  of  silver  net  goes 
round  the  bottom  of  it;  sometimes 
it  is  ornamented  with  a  silver  flow- 
er, at  others  a  fulness  of  silver 
gauze  fancifully  disposed  in  front. 

Rose-colour,  blue,  lilac,  and 
citron,  are  the  fashionable  hues. 

Farewell,  dear  Sophia!  Believe 
me  always  your 

ElJDOCIA. 


FA  SHIONABLE    FURNI T  U  R  E. 

P  L  AT  K    15 . — W I X  D  ( )  \Y  -  D  It  A  P  F  B  Y . 


CuKTAiN-cornicesarenowadopt- 
ed  in  great  variety,  and  will  pro- 
bably very  soon  supersede  the  late 
fashion    of   suspending     draperies 
by  poles  and  detached  ornaments.  ] 
The    annexed    design    represents 
draperies   to  three  windows,  sur-  ' 
mounted   by  a  fanciful   continued  ; 
cornice,  embracing  them  all;  this 
is  a  little  elevated,  and  arched  in 
t  u;  centre,  to  form  a  canopy  and 


throne-like  character,  and  com- 
mence a  vista,  where  a  statue  is 
placed  to  increase  the  effect. 

The  carved  work  of  the  cornice 
is  gilt,  and  a  gold-edged  valance, 
formed  of  Merino  cloth  and  velvet, 
completes  its  lower  surface.  The 
curtains  are  of  pink  silk  or  figured 
chintz,  finished  by  an  embossed 
scroll  border,  and  the  sub- drape- 
ries are  of  unite  nuuliu. 


186 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


The  unexampled  favour  shewn 
by  the  public  to  the  First  Tour 
of  Dr.  Si/utax,  published  by  R. 
Ackermann,  has  been  already  ma- 
nifested to  the  Second.  An  impres- 
sion, unprecedentedly  numerous, 
of  the  latter,  has  already  marked 
the  public  approbation,  and  a  se- 
cond edition  is  prepared  to  answer 
the  continuance  of  it. 

The  author  of  "  Doctor  Syntax 
in  Search  of  the  Picturesque"  is 
preparing  another  work,  which  will 
appear  in  October  next,  in  eight 
monthly  parts,  under  the  title  of 
Doctor  Syntax  in  Search  of  a  Wife; 
with  twenty-four  designs  by  Tho- 
mas Rowlandson,  Esq.  Each  part 
to  contain  three  coloured  engrav- 
ings, and  thirty-two  pages  of  poe- 
tical letter-press. 

R.  Ackermann  has  in  the  press, 
Historical  Sketches  of  the  Cossack 
Tribes:  illustrated  with  twenty-four 
lithographic  portraits,  drawn  from 
life,  in  1815,  during  the  campaign 
in  Paris;  super-royal  4to.  Also, 
Six  Szciss  Farm- 1  louses,  in  colours, 
eleven  inches  by  eight. 

•  Early  next  month  will  be  pub- 
lished*, No.  II.  of  a  Series  of  Pictu- 
resque Subjects  on  the.  River  Meuse 


and  its  Banks,  exhibiting  the  beau- 
ties of  that  river  between  the  ci- 
ties of  Mezieres  and  Liege,  in- 
cluding views  of  the  intermediate 
towns  and  fortresses;  with  every 
description  of  scenery,  from  the 
most  magnificent,  to  the  simplest 
features  of  rural  nature;  from 
drawings  made  in  the  summer  of 
1818,  by  G.Arnald,  A.R.  A.  and 
engraved  in  mezzotinto  by  Messrs. 
J.  W.  Reynolds,  C.  Turner,  and 
W.Ward,  A.E. 

An  Appendix  to  "  The  Descrip- 
tions of  Paris,"  by  Madame  Do- 
meier,  is  in  the  press. 

Mr.  Aspin  is  preparing  for  pub- 
lication, An  Account  of  the  Naval 
and  Military  Exploits  which  have 
distinguished  the  Reign  of  George  II  I. 
The  work  will  be  embellished  with 
numerous  coloured  plates. 

A  new  edition  is  in  the  press  of 
A  Letter  to  Farmers  and  Graziers, 
on  the  Advantages  of  using  Salt 
in  the  various  branches  of  Agricul- 
ture, and  in  feeding  all  kinds  of 
farming  stock;  with  a  large  Appen- 
dix of  proofs  and  illustrations,  by 
Samuel  Parkes,  F.L.S.  M.R.I. 
M.G.  S. 


(9W9W?E(*^0BQS9U 


A  BALLAD. 

T'was  evening,  the  sun  o'er  Saint  Gothard 
descended, 
And  the  nvon  palely  silver'd  the  snow's  on 
its  side, 
Where  their  rays  ivi  the  twilight  in  crimson 
were  blended, 
When  Ellen,  of  Unterwald's  maidens  the 
pride, 
Emholdcn'd    by  love,  yet  half  consdous  of 
fear, 
Aseeuded    the    cliff   that  hangs    o'er   the 
Rhone's  wave, 
And  waved  her  white  veil    to  the  boat  that 
drew  mar. 
And  bore  to  his  Ellen  young  Edwin  the 
brave. 


Her  signal   is  answer'd ;  the  boat  nears  the 
shore ; 
A  moment  and  Edwin  will  be  at  her  feet- 
One  moment.  —  Hark!   hark!  with  the  whirl- 
wind's wild  roar,  . 
And  swift  as  the  lightnings  when  thunder- 
clouds meet, 
The    avalanche  falls — one  loud  shriek,  one 
wilu  cry  : 
She  beheld  it  oVrwhelm  him;  she  plung'd 
'mid  the  wave  ; 
And   Unterwald's  maidens  still  shew  with   a 
sigh, 
The  cypress   and    myrtle  that  grow   o'er 
their  "rave. 


I.  M  inisdii,  Printer,  :•''■),  Strand. 


MP 

jOXj 

Osl 

psri 

O^l 

Fry 

b| 

V         1    J^^'. 

PtO 

LlJgH 

P^Fj 

Pn 

■     y  ^^B 

FjO 

teij 

yg 

PiO 

Ofin 

ISO 

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a* 


if 


\?fv 


THE 


BeposWorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  fyc. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


October  1,  1820. 


iS0  LVIII. 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  pagk 

1.  A  Rustic  Bridge 187 

2.  The  Inn  at  .Marseilles 210 

3.  View  of  the  Bridge  of  Baveno  and  of  the  Madre  Islands  .  224 

4.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress 234 

.5. Evening  Dress         ........  .     ib. 

o.  Patterns  of  Black  and  White  Borders  for  Inlaid  Work. 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
Hints  ou   Ornamental  Gardening.  —  A 
Rustic  Bridge 187 

MISCELLANIES. 

Correspondence  of  the  Adviser      .     .     .  188 
Historical,  Literary,  and  Miscellaneous 

Anecdotes 189 

On  the  Proposal  of  Sempronia  regarding 

Needle- Work .     .   191 

An  Account  of  Johnnie  Faa  the  Gipsy 

Chief,  and  the  Countess  of  Cassillis  .  192 
On  the  Voyages  for  the  Discovery  of  a 

North-Western  Passage 19G 

On  the  Dress  and  Fashions  of  our  An- 
cestors    200 

Sketch  of  the  Life  of  Mademoiselle  Rau- 
court,  the  late  celebrated  French  Ac- 
tress        203 

Sentimental    Travels    in    the   South   of 

France,  Letter  XXIII 208 

Origin  of  some  of  Mr.  Southey's  Ballads  2i7 
My  own  Choice  and  my  Mother's,  a  Tale  219 
Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon. — 
View  of  the  Bridge  of  Baveno  and  of 

the  Madre  Islands 224 

The  Female  Tattler.— No.  LVIII.       .     .  22o 

The  Rhine 228 

George  II.  and  Colonel  von  Losecke       .  229 
Poems  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  230 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Pip.kis's  Fantasia,  from  Mozart's  "  II 
Flauto  Magictf" 233 


PAGE 

Selection  of  Quadrilles 233 

Klose's  "  Wert  thou  like  me"       .     .     .     ib. 

"  Poor  wretch  who  hast  nothing"  ib. 

Frost's  "  Le  Chanteur" flj. 

Davy's  "  Love's  Wreath" 034 

GROSse's  Waltzes,  No.  II ij. 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Walking 
Dress      .     .     .     . %b. 

Ladies'  Evening  Dress ib. 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 235 

French  Female  Fashions       .....  237 

THE  SELECTOR. 

The  early  Life  of  a  Poet  (from  Cole- 
ridge's "  Biographia  Literaria")  .     .  241 

The  Cell  of  St.  Cuthbert  (from  "  The 
Abbot,"  by  the  Author  of  "  Waver- 
ley") 213 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC      ....  246 

POETRY. 

Sorrow's  Expostulation,  by  S.  T.      .     .  248 
The  Parting,  a  Picture ib. 


L,  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

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The  promised  quotations  from  Heywood's  General  H'^tory  of  Women  merit 
attention,  but  require  abridgment  and  selection. 

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hand. 


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E 


Q 

M 


THE 


Beposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures ,  fyc. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


October  1,  1820. 


N°  LVIII. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  p.  125.) 
PLATE    19. — A    RUSTIC    BRIDGE. 


WATER,  is  so  essential  to  the 
beauty  of  cultivated  scenery,  from 
its  power  of  contrast  to  the  sur- 
rounding verdure,  its  brillianc}-, 
its  colour,  its.  motion,  and  spark- 
ling reflections,  as  also  from  many 
other  results  of  its  mirror-like  sur- 
face, that  it  should  never  be  dis- 
pensed with  where  local  circum- 
stances permit  its  use;  for  where  a 
canal  or  stream  of  water  exists,  it 
allows  the  introduction  of  an  ad- 
ditional picturesque  feature  to  the 
landscape,  no  less  interesting  than 
any  other  legitimate  means  of  or- 
nament. 

'  The  annexed  design  for  abridge 
is   presented    to    our    readers    as 
suitable  to  this  purpose:  it  forms 
Vol.  X.  No.  Will. 


a  rustic  shelter  and  fishing-seat; 
and  the  parapets  of  each  extremi- 
ty are  arranged  in  step-like  forms, 
to  receive  orange -trees,  or  other 
plants,  and  which  would  admirably 
connect  it  with  the  garden. 

Its  construction  is  chiefly  of 
timber  and  unbarked  slabs  of  oak, 
and  the  roof  is  proposed  to  be  co- 
vered by  reed  thatching. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  slope 
of  ground  will  not  admit  so  ex- 
I  tensive  a  sheet  of  water  as  may  be 
desired,  unless  two  or  more  levels 
of  its  surface  are  obtained:  in  this 
case,  if  a  bridge  is  erected  over 
the  fall,  its  irregularity  is  conceal- 
ed with  advantage. 

C  c 


\m 


MISCELLANIES. 


CORRESPONDENCE  OF  THE  ADVISER. 


Mr.  Advise  r, 

I  am  at  this  moment  abso- 
lutely dyingwith  a  thousand  name- 
less disorders,  which  my  physician, 
Dr.  Doublefee,  assures  me  will 
terminate  in  a  nervous  fever  if  I 
do  not  go  through  a  regular  course 
of  medicine,  and  pass  also  a  few- 
months  in  Paris,  in  order,  by  tra- 
vel and  change  of  scene,  to  amuse 
my  mind  and  relieve  my  spirits. 
But  would  you  believe,  sir,  that 
my  barbarous  husband  has  picked 
up,  somewhere  or  other,  a  tramon- 
tane professor  of  medicine,  who 
has  the  assurance  to  tell  me  to  my 
face,  that  my  case  does  not  require 
either  medicine  or  French  air;  that 
I  want  nothing  but  regular  exer- 
cise, plain  food,  .and  English  or 
Welch  country  air  ?  So,  in  com- 
pliance with  this  absurd  prescrip- 
tion, I  am  to  be  packed  off  to 
some  Gothic  solitude,  where  I  shall 
absolutely  die  of  the  vapours,  un- 
less you,  Mr.  Adviser,  will  have 
the  goodness  to  come  to  my  assist- 
ance. My  husband  1  know  has  a 
great  opinion  of  your  good  sense:  i 
now,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  reall)* 
have  a  particle  of  understanding, 
you  must  conceive  at  once  that  it 
is  absolutely  impossible  for  a  wo- 
man of  fashion  to  conform  to  such 
vulgar  regulations.  First,  the  re- 
gular  exercise,  by  which  you  must 
understand  this  brute  of  a  physi- 
cian means  walking,  or  riding  on 
horseback.  I  am  too  timid  to  ven- 
ture on  horseback,  and  I  do  not 
believe  1  have  walked  for  ten  mi- 
nutes together  during  the  last  fif- 
teen years.     What  he  calls  plain 


food,  is  merely  boiled  or  roast 
meat;  as  it  is,  when  I  have  every 
delicacy  to  tempt  my  appetite,  I 
eat  almost  nothing,  so  1  leave  you 
to  judge  whether  I  could  possibly 
be  expected  to  partake  of  a  repast 
only  fit  for  a  farmer.  As  for  early 
hours,  I  protest  against  them  in 
toto.  I  remember  I  once  passed  a 
week  at  the  house  of  a  lady,  who 
made  a  rule  that  her  guests  should 
retire  to  their  chambers  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  assemble  to  breakfast 
at  nine  in  the  morning;  and  so 
strong  an  impression  of  horror  has 
that  miserable  week  made  on  my 
mind,  that  the  bare  thought  of  a 
repetition  of  it  would  throw  me 
into  hysterics. 

Now,  sir,  for  the  last  thing, 
country  air:  I  am  quite  convinced, 
by  what  Dr.  Doublefee  says,  that 
the  air  of  this  country  is  too  keen 
for  a  delicate  constitution  like  mine, 
and  I  cannot  think  of  being  in- 
strumental perhaps  to  my  own 
death  by  submitting  to  try  it.  You 
see  I  have  stated  the  matter  with 
clearness  and  perspicuity,  and  al- 
though my  husband  will  not  attend 
to  what  I  say,  yet  I  am  sure  he 
would  to  you,  if  you  will  only  im- 
press upon  him  the  barbarity  of 
neglecting  the  advice  of  Dr.  Dou- 
blefee,  and  the  fatal  consequences 
that  may  ensue  from  following  the 
regulations  of  the  ignoramus  who 
has  prescribed  an  opposite  course. 
By  doing  this  immediately,  you 
will  very  much  oblige  your  hum- 
ble servant, 

Nekissa  Neiivellss. 


HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    MISCELLANEOUS   ANECDOTES. 


189 


I  am  afraid  that  my  correspond-  || 
ent  will   not  admit  thut  I  have  a  ' 
particle  of  understanding,  when  I  | 
protest  against  the  adoption  of  Dr.  || 
Douhlefee's    plan.     I     shall     not,  j1 
however,    offer    her   any   counsel, 
because  I  am  sure  it  would  he  in 
vain  ;  hut  I  recommend  to  her  hus- 
band  to  lose  no  time  in  putting  in 
practice  the   advice    of  the  other  \ 
physician.     As  to  any  consequen-  ; 
ces   that    may    result  from    it,    he 
need  not  he  at  all  apprehensive  of 
them  :  I  will  stake  my  reputation 
for   sagacity,  that   if  he  banishes 
made    dishes,   his    lady  will    soon 
find  an  appetite  for  roast  beef;  if 
he    prohibits  cards,  conversaziones, 
and  evening  parties,  she   will  be 
glad  to  go  to  bed,  rather  than  sit  up 
without  company.     The  most  dif- 
ficult  thing  will   be  to  make  her 


take  exercise,  but  even  that  I 
think  might  be  managed  by  wheel- 
ing her  in  a  garden-chair  to  a  cer- 
tain  distance  from  the  house,  and 
then  leaving  hereto  find  her  way 
back  on  foot  as  well  as  she  could. 
If,  however,  her  husband  should 
consider  this  last  piece  of  disci- 
pline as  too  severe,  or  should  be 
apprehensive  that  she  might  even- 
tually use  her  legs  to  run  away, 
there  is  no  absolute  necessity  to 
force  her  to  exercise  them  at  pre- 
sent, since  I  have  no  doubt  that  in 
a  little  time  she  will  gladly  walk, 
as  a  resource  against  ennui.  I  must, 
however,  recommend  her  husband 
to  be  firm,  since  it  will  be  of  no 
use  to  begin  the  system  prescribed 
unless  he  has  spirit  to  persevere 
in  it.  S.  Sagephiz. 


HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,  AND    MISCELLANEOUS 
ANECDOTES. 


ANCESTRY    OF    DEAN   SWIFT. 

Inscription  on  a  monument 
placed  against  the  south  wall  in  St. 
Andrew's  church,  Canterbury: 

"  Near  to  this  place  lie  buried 
the  bodies  of  Mr.  Thomas  Swift, 
rector  of  this  church  twenty-two 
years,  areverend  preacher  of  God's 
word.  He  died  the  12th  of  June? 
1592,  aged  57: 

"And of  Mr. William  Swift,  his 
son,  who  succeeded  him  in  this 
church  thirty-three  years.  He  was 
rector  of  Harble  Downe  twenty- 
two  years,  and  a  painful  pastor  in 
both  cures.  Aged  58,  and  died 
the  24th  October,  1624. 

"  Margaret,  wife  of  Mr.  Thomas, 
■lieth  in  the  cathedral  church-yard, 
against  the  south  door,  with  nine 
of  her   children.     Marv,   wife  of 


Mr.  William,  lieth  buried  with 
him.  She  died  the  5th  of  March, 
1626,  aged  58.  They  left  issue 
oneson,  Mr. Thomas  Swift,  preach- 
er, in  Herefordshire;  and  two 
daughters,  Katharine,  wife  of 
Thomas  Withierden,  gentleman, 
and  Margaret,  wife  of  Henry  At- 
kinson, apothecary  and  citizen  of 
London;  by  which  two  daughters 
this  monument  was  erected." 

N.  B.  Mr.  Thomas  Swift,  the  sur- 
vivor, was  vicar  of  Goodridge, 
Herefordshire,  and  had  six  sons; 
one  of  whom,  named  Jonathan, 
was  the  father  of  Jonathan,  the 
famous  dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  who 
died  in  October  1745. 


MARGARET    OF   YORK. 

This  princess,  sister  to  Edward 
C  c  2 


190 


HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   ANECDOTES. 


IV.  of  England,  Duchess  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  Countess  of  Flanders, 
is  repeatedly  mentioned  in  the 
Belgium  Dominicanum  of  a  Dutch 
writer  of  the  name  of  de  Jonghe, 
printed  at  Brussels  in  1719,  a  work 
on  the  Dominican  monasteries,  &c. 
of  the  Low  Countries,  accompanied 
by  plates  of  their  remains  and  si- 
tuation. She  founded  the  Domi- 
nican monastery  at  Ghent,  and 
made  many  splendid  presents  to 
the  church  of  pictures,  arras,  &c. 
by  which  its  appearance  was  much 
improved,  and  its  funds  enriched. 
An  inscription  is  placed  in  the 
church  to  her  memory,  stating 
that  this  "  most  illustrious,  noble, 
and  devout  lady  died  on  Nov.  23d, 
1503,  and  was  buried  in  the  church 
of  the  Friars  Minors  at  Mechlin." 
It  also  appears  that  the  church  of 
St.  Agnes  was  founded  in  1472  by 
Margaret  Duchess  of  Burgundy, 
who,  with  the  utmost  ceremony, 
laid  the  first  stone  with  her  own 
hands.  The  service  was  after- 
wards performed  in  her  presence 
by  the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  and 
then  there  was  a  procession  of  the 
nuns  of  St.  Agnes,  in  which  the 
duchess  joined  with  great  devo- 
tion, singing  psalms  and  litanies. 
In  some  histories,  a  very  long  ac- 
count is  given  of  this  consecra- 
tion, and  of  the  procession,  which 
was  finished  by  a  string  of  bishops 
and  monks.  Her  reason  for  choos- 
ing the  church  of  the  Friars  Minors 
at  Mechlin  for  her  burial  was  sin- 
gular; viz.  '*  that  no  woman  had 
ever  yet  been  buried  among  those 
holy  men  :"  but  the  friars,  without 
much  complaisance  for  this  dis- 
tinction, instead  of  giving  her  a 
place  in  the  chancel,  laid  the  body 
of  the  duchess  in  the  ehurch-vard. 


ANECDOTE  OF  SCHALKEN, A  PAINT- 
ER, WHO  CAME  TO  ENGLAND  IN 
THE  REIGN  OF  KING  WILLIAM  III. 

Schalken  was  born  at  Dort  in 
1643.  His  father  placed  him  first 
with  Solomon  van  Hoogstraten, 
and  afterwards  with  Gerard  Douw, 
from  whom  he  caught  a  great  de- 
licacy in  finishing;  but  his  chief 
practice  was  to  paint  candlelights. 
He  placed  the  object  and  a  candle 
in    a    dark     room,     and    looking 

;  through  a  small  hole,  painted  by 
daylight  what  he  saw  in  the  dark 
chamber.    Sometimes  he  drew  por- 

\  traits,  and  came  with  that  view  to 
England,  but  found  the  business 

j  too  much  engrossed   by  Kneller, 

j  Closterman,  and  others.  Yet  he 
once  drew  King  William;  but  as 

\  the  piece  was  to  be  by  candle- 
light, he  gave  his  majesty  the  can* 

die  to  hold,  till  the  tallow  ran  down 
i  '  .... 

upon  his  fingers.     As  if  to  justify 

,  this  ill-breeding,  he  drew  his  own 
!  picture  in  the  same  situation.    De- 
licacy was  no  part  of  his  character: 
,  having    drawn     a    lady   who    was 
;  marked    with  the  small-pox,    but 
j  had   handsome    hands,   she   asked 
him,  when   the  face  was  finished, 
if  she  must  not  sit  for  her  hands: 
"No,"  replied  Schalken,  "I  always 
draw  them  from  my  house-maid." 


THE  MUSIC  OF  AUVERGNE. 
In  a  French  work  called  the  Voy- 
age du  Mont  d'Or,  several  curious, 
and  at  the  same  time  beautiful,  airs 
are  inserted  as  specimens  of  the 
national  music  peculiar  to  the 
mountainous  district  of  Auvergne; 
and  it  would  be  somewhat  remark- 
able, did  we  not  know  the  antipa- 
thy of  the  French  to  any  thing 
that  is  old,  that  this  publication 
did  not  attract  the  notice  of  musi- 


ON   Till-:   PROPOSAL   OF   SEMPKONIA    REGARDING    NEEDLE-WORK. 


191 


cians  to  these  melodies.  In  Eng- 
land  we  have  had  published,  Irish, 
Scotch,   Welch,  Hebrew,  Indian, 

and  even  West-Indian  melodies,  to 
.add  to  our  stock  of  airs;  and  we 
should  not  be  surprised  it'  ere  long- 
some  attempt  were  made  to  intro- 
duce among  us  some  of  the  music 
of  Auvergne.  The  airs  arc  com- 
monly sung  by  the  peasantry,  who 
generally  have  a  pretty  taste  and 
some  skill  in  execution,  and  a  col- 
lection   might    easily    be    formed 


without  any  exertion  of  invention, 
which  has  cost  a  few  of  our  mo- 
dern musicians  a  little  trouble. 
The  country  of  Auvergne  is  well 
known  to  be  the  most  picturesque 
in  France,  but  whether  this  is  con- 
nected with  the  music,  we  must 
leave  others  to  decide.  From  the 
industry  of  the  French  cotnpc 
as  we  have  said,  we  can  expect 
nothing,  for  they  know  nothing  of 
the  music  of  their  country  before 
the  time  of  Lully. 


ON  THE  PROPOSAL  OF  SEMPRONIA  REGARDING  NEEDLE-WORK. 

Sin,  You  will  readily  conceive,  Mr. 

I  am  the  lineal  descendant  j  Editor,  that  this  must  be  the  case, 
of  one  of  the  best  needle-women  J  when  I  tell  you,  that  so  far  from 
that  adorned  the  age  of  our  eighth  .  finding  my  female  acquaintance, 
Henry:  this  pattern  of  feminine  ,!  especially  the  younger  part  of 
perfection,  Lady  Sarah  Sewmore, ,;  them, engaged, as Semproniaseems 
intermarried  into  the  noble  family  '  to  say  the  ladies  in  London  are,  in 
of  Whiteseam;  and  it  is  recorded     the  incessant  use  of  their  needle,  I 


in  our  annals,  that  a  part  of  her 
marriage  portion  was  the  entire 
furniture  of  a  bed-chamber,  every 
part  of  which  that  could  be  exe- 
cuted in  needle-work,  such  as  the 
tapestry,  the  hangings  of  the  bed, 
counterpane,  chairs,  and  all  the 
fashionables  of  that  day,  were  the 
work  of  her  own  fair  hands.  The 
Lady  Sarah's  fondness  for  needle- 
work was  at  that  time  deemed  he- 
reditary,  and  it  has  since  been 
transmitted  with  all  its  vigour  to 
her  female  descendants.  As  to 
myself,  Mr.  Editor,  I  can  truly  de- 
clare, that  ever  since  I  attained  my 
sixth  year,  I  have  never  been  with- 
out a  piece  of  work  to  begin  or 
to  finish;  and  the  disesteem  into 
which  the  labours  of  the  needle 
have  latterly  fallen  in  the  remote 
part  of  England  in  which  I  reside, 
has  been,  I  assure  you,  sir,  a  source 
of  infinite  mortification  to  me, 


scarcely  ever  see  one  in  their  fin- 
gers: books,  music,  drawing,  every 
thing, in  short, butthe  needle,  is  re- 
sorted to  in  order  to  kill  time :  even 
my  daughters,  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
it,  spite  of  my  ov/h-  precepts  and 
example,  are  too  fond  of  these 
modern  vanities,  which  were  un- 
known in  my  young  days.  The 
letter  of  your  correspondent  Sem- 
pronia  has  luckily  pointed  out  to 
me  an  excellent  method  to  conquer 
their  idleness.  I  will  take  them  up 
to  London  directly;  since  the  la- 
dies there  are  so  notable,  my  girls 
will  be  shamed,  by  the  prevalence 
of  example,  into  employing  them- 
selves as  I  wish. 

I  am  happy  to  find  that  there  is 
still  a  part  of  the  kingdom  in  which 
so  much  of  that  industry  that  used 
to  distinguish  our  grandmothers  is 
to  be  found.  I  confess  I  had  formed 
a  very  different  idea  of  the  Loudon 


192 


AN  ACCOUNT   OF  JOHNNIE    FAA,   &C. 


ladies,  till  Sempronia  opened  my 
eyes  to  their  good  qualities:  it  is 
amazing  how  we  country  folks  are 
deceived  in  that  respect;  for,  from 
the  false  representations  made  to 
us,  we  are  apt  to  couple  dissipa- 
tion, extravagance,  and  idleness 
with  the  very  name  of  a  London 
lady.  I  protest  I  could  cry  when 
I  think  how  much  work  my  two 
girls,  the  one  eighteen,  the  other 
sixteen,  might  have  done  by  this 
time,  if  they  had  only  been  brought 
up  in  that  seat  of  industry,  the  me- 
tropolis. However,  it  is  not  yet 
too  late,  and  I  am  determined  not 
to  lose  a  moment  in  giving  them 
the  benefit  of  such  good  example. 
In  the  mean  time,  I  cannot  help 
hinting  to  you,  Mr.  Editor,  that 
such  advice  as  that  of  your  corre- 
spondent Sempronia,  though  it  may 
have  noeffect  upon  thesober-mind- 
ed  damsels  of  London,  is  really 
dangerous  to  country  girls,  who, 
havino;  in  ireneral  strong  animal 
spirits,  are  sufficiently  inclined  to 
dislike  needle-work,  without  being 
taught  to  practise,  idleness  as  a 
duty.     Women  are  naturally  of  so 


active  a  turn  of  mind,  that  if  their 
hands  are  not  employed,  their 
heads  will  be ;  and  you  know  the 
proverb,  "  Idleness  is  the  mother 
of  mischief."  I  remember  while 
I  was  a  girl,  I  had  once  a  disorder 
in  my  eyes,  during  which  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  fall  in  love  with  the 
son  of  one  of  our  neighbours;  and 
I  believe  I  should  have  pined  my- 
self to  death,  if  I  had  not  luckily, 
upon  recovering  my  sight,  begun 
to  amuse  myself  by  working  the 
destruction  of  Troy  :  the  difficulty 
which  I  found  in  firing  the  city  in 
a  sufficiently  striking  manner, 
caused  a  diversion  in  m}-  thoughts, 
which,  in  the  end,  enabled  me  to 
conquer  my  passion. 

I  communicate  this  fact  to  you, 
Mr.  Editor,  for  the  benefit  of  your 
fair  readers,  and  I  earnestly  re- 
commend them  not  to  be  talked  or 
advised  out  of  that  spirit  of  indus- 
try, which,  far  from  being  a  re- 
proach, is,  if  properly  considered, 
one  of  the  most  amiable  traits  in 
the  female  character.  I  am,  sir, 
your  constant  reader  and  very 
humble  servant, 

Winifred  Workmore. 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  JOHNNIE  FAA,  THE  GIPSY  CHIEF, 
AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  CASSILLIS. 


As  the  author  of  the  admirable 
romance  of  Guy  Mannering  has 
rendered  every  thing  respecting 
Scottish  gipsies  of  extreme  inter- 
est, it  is  presumed  that  the  follow- 
ing detail  regarding  the  elopement 
of  a  fair  countess  with  the  king  of 
that  dusky  band,  will  prove  not  un- 
acceptable to  the  generality  of  our 
readers. 


solemn  earl,"  married  for  his  first 
wife  Lady  Jane  Hamilton,  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas,  first  Earl  of  Had- 
dington. It  is  said  that  this  match 
took  place  contrary  to  the  inclina- 
tions of  the  young  lady,  whose  af- 
fections had  been  previously  en- 
gaged by  a  certain  Sir  John  Faa  of 
Dunbar,  who  was  neither  grave 
nor  solemn,  and  moreover  much 
John,  sixth  Earl  of  Cassillis,  !  handsomer  than  his  successful  ri- 
commonly  termed  "  the  grave  and  j  val.     While    Lord    Cassillis,   who 


AS   ACCOUNT    OF   JOKNTUK    IAA,   &.C. 


193 


by  the  way  was  a  very  zealous  Pu- 
ma:), was  absent  on  some  mission 
from  the  Scottish  parliament  to 
that  of  England,  Sir  John  with  his 
followers  repaired  to  Cassillis, 
where  the  young  lady  then  resided, 
and  persuaded  her  to  elope  with 
hitu  to  England.  As  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  the  earl  returned  home 
before  the  lovers  could  cross  the 
Border,  pursued  and  overtook 
them;  and  in  the  conflict  all  the 
masquerade  gipsies  were  slain, 
save  one;  and  the  weeping  coun- 
tess brought  back  to  her  husband's 
mansion,  where  she  remained  till 
a  dungeon  was  prepared  for  her 
near  the  village  of  Maybole,  where- 
in she  languished  for  the  short  re- 
mainder of  her  life  in  humble  sor- 
row and  devotion. 

This  is  one  edition  of  the  story 
still  very  current  in  the  country 
where  the  elopement  took  place  ; 
but  it  is  not  supported  by  the  tenor 
of  the  ballad,  which  was  composed 
by  the  only  surviving  ravisher,  and 
is  contradicted  by  a  number  of 
those  who  still  recite  the  verses: 
indeed,  a  very  numerous  jury  of 
matrons,  "  spinsters  and  knitters 
in  the  sun,"  pronounce  the  fair 
countess  guilty  of  having  eloped 
with  a  genuine  gipsy,  though 
compelled  in  some  degree  to  that 
low-lived  indiscretion  by  certain 
wicked  charms  and  philters,  of 
which  Faa  and  his  party  are  said  to 
have  possessed  the  secret. 

It  is  recorded  in  the  ballad  itself, 
that 

"  She  gare  to  them  the  good  wheat  bread, 
And  they  gave  her  the  ginger " 

which  doubiless  contained  some 
drug  to  enforce  love.  At  that 
time  the  belief  in  the  power  of  such 
philters  was  extremely  prevalent, 


and  means  were  resorted  to  in  their 
composition  far  too  abominable  to 
be  related  here.  I  do  not,  how- 
ever, find  ginger  mentioned  as  an 
ingredient  in  any  of  those  satanic 
nostrums  of  which  the  component 
parts  have  been  committed  to  writ- 
ing; but  from  its  peculiar  qualities, 
it  probably  was  in  request.  The 
unfortunate  lady  was  also  assailed 
by  the  power  of  glamour,  which 
the  stoutest  chastity  proved  quite 
unable  to  resist,  if  unaided  by  a 
morsel  of  the  mountain  ash-tree, 
an  umber  necklace,  a  stone  forced 
by  stripes  from  the  head  of  a  live 
toad,  or  the  prudent  recollection 
of  keeping  both  thumbs  close  com- 
pressed in  the  hand  during  the 
presence  of  the  malevolent  charm- 
er. 

Glamour,  according  to  the  Scot- 
tish interpretation,  is  that  super- 
natural power  of  imposing  on  the 
eyesight,  by  which  the  appearance 
of  an  object  shall  be  totally  dif- 
ferent from  the  reality.  Mr.  Scott, 
describing  the  wonderful  volume 
of  Michael  of  Balwearie,  says : 

"  It  had  much  of  ylamour  might, 

Could  make  a  lady  seem  a  knight; 

The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall 

Seem  tapestry  in  a  lordly  hall; 

A  nut-shell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 

A  sheeling  seem  a  palace  large, 

And  youth  stem  age,aud  age  stem  jcouth  : 

All  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth." 

See  the  note  to  that  passage,  and 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  iii. 
p.  119,  for  many  illustrations  of 
the  subject ;  but  the  most  extraor- 
dinary i instances  of  glamour  that 
I  have  met  with,  are  collected  by 
Delrio,  in  his  citations  from  Du- 
bravius's  History  of  Bohemia.  Winr- 
ceslaus,  son  to  the  Emperor 
Charles  IV.  marrying  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria's  daughter,  the  duke,  who 


194 


AN   ACCOUNT   OF   JOHNNIE   FAA,   &C. 


understood  that  his  son-in-law  de- 
lighted in  feats  of  conjuration,  sent 
to  Prague  for  a  waggon-load  of 
magicians  to  enliven  the  nuptials. 
While  the  most  scientific  of  these 
were  puzzling  for  some  new  illu- 
sion, Winceslaus's  family  conj  uror, 
Zyto  by  name,  who  had  slid  pri- 
vately in  among  the  crowds,  of  a 
sudden  presented  himself,  having 
his  mouth,  as  it  seemed,  enlarged 
on  both  sides,  open  to  his  verj7 
ears;  he  goes  straight  to  the  duke's 
chief  conjuror,  and  swallows  him 
up  with  all  that  he  wore,  saving 
his  pantoufles,  which  being  dirty, 
he  spit  a  great  way  from  him  ;  after 
this,  feeling  himself  uneasy  with 
such  a  load  upon  his  stomach,  he 
hastens  to  a  great  tub,  that  stood 
full  of  water,  voids  the  man  into 
it,  and  then  brings  him  back  to 
the  company,  dripping  wet  and 
overwhelmed  with  confusion;  on 
which  the  other  magicians  would 
shew  no  more  tricks.  This  same 
Master  Zyto,  who,  pur  parenthese, 
was  himself  carried  off  bodily  by 
the  devil  at  last,  could  appear  with 
any  visage  he  chose.  When  the 
king  walked  on  the  land,  he  would 
seem  to  swim  in  the  water  towards 
him;  or  if  his  majesty  was  carried 
on  a  litter  of  horses,  Zyto  would 
follow  on  another  borne  up  by 
cocks.  He  made  thirty  fat  swine 
out  of  so  many  wisps  of  hay,  and 
sold  them  to  a  rich  baker,  at  a  high 
price,  desiring  him  not  to  allow 
them  to  enter  into  any  water;  but 
the  baker  forgetting  this  injunc- 
tion, found  only  the  wisps  of  hay 
swimming  on  the  surface  of  a  pool ; 
and  in  a  mighty  chafe  seeking  out 
Zyto,  who  was  extended  upon  a 
bench  and  seemingly  asleep,  he 
seized  him  by  one  leg  to  awake 


him,  when,  lo!  both  the  leg  and 
the  thigh  seemed  to  remain  in  his 
hands,  which  filled  him  with  so 
much  terror  that  he  complained  no 
more  of  the  cheat.  Zyto,  at  the 
banquet  of  the  king,  would  some- 
times change  the  hands  of  the 
guests  into  the  hoofs  of  an  ox  or 
horse,  so  that  they  could  not  ex- 
tend them  to  the  dishes  to  help 
themselves  to  any  thing;  and  if 
they  looked  out  of  the  windows, 
he  beautified  their  heads  with 
horns;  a  trick,  by  the  bye,  which 
perhaps  John  Faa  could  have  play- 
ed to  Lord  Cassillis  with  infinitely 
greater  significance*. 

It  is  not  now  possible  to  fix  the 
precise  date  of  Lady  Cassillis's 
elopement  with  the  gipsie  laddie. 
She  was  born  in  the  year  1607,  and 
is  said  to  have  died  young;  but  if 
she  ran  off  with  her  lover  during 
her  husband's  first  journey  to  Eng- 
land, in  quality  of  ruling  elder 
deputed  to  the  assembly  of  divines 
at  Westminster,  1643,  to  ratify  the 
Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  she 
could  not  even  then  have  been  in 
her  first  youth,  and  it  is  certain 
that  she  lived  long  enough  in  her 
confinement  at  Maybole  to  work  a 

*  Two  magicians,  says  Delrio,  met  in 
the  court  of  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, and  agreed  that  in  any  one  thing 
the j7  should  certainly  obey  each  other. 
The  one  therefore  commands  the  other 
to  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  casement; 
which  he  had  no  sooner  done  than  a  huge 
pair  of  stag's  horns  were  seen  planted  on 
his  forehead,  to  the  no  small  delight  of 
the  spectators,  who  laughed  at  and  mock- 
ed him  extremely  ;  but  when  it  came  to 
the  horned  magician's  turn  to  be  obeyed, 
he  made  his  adversary  stand  upright 
against  a  wall,  which  instantly  opening, 
swallowed  him  up,  so  that  he  was  never 
afterwards  seen. 


AN   ACCOUNT    OF   JOHNNIE    FAA,    &C. 


195 


piece  of  tapestry,  still  preserved  at 
Colzcan  House,  in  which  she  re- 
pTesented  her  unhappy  flight,  but 
with  circumstances  unsuitable  to 
the  details  of  the  ballad,  and  as  if 
the  deceits  of  glamour  had  still 
bewildered  her  memory  ;  for  she  is 
mounted  behind  her  lover,  gorge- 
ously attired,  on  a  superb  white 
courser,  and  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  persons,  who  bear  no  re- 
semblance to  a  herd  of  tatterde- 
mallion  gipsies. 

But  it  appears  from  the  crimi- 
nal records  of  Edinburgh,  that  in 
January  1624,  eight  men,  among 
whom  was  Captain  John  Faa,  were 
convicted  on  the  statute  against 
Egyptians,  and  suffered  accord- 
ing to  sentence.  I  am  strongly 
tempted  to  think  that  this  was  the 
Johnnie  of  the  ballad,  whom  Lord 
Cassillis  wisely  got  hanged,  in  the 
place  of  slaying  him  in  the  field*. 
Indeed,  a  stanza  of  the  song,  as  it 
is  sometimes  recited,  states  that 
eight  of  the  gipsies  were  hanged 
at  Carlisle,  and  the  rest  at  the 
Border.  If  this  conjectureberight, 
the  lady's  lover  was  married  as  well 
as  herself;  for,  a  few  days  after 
John's  trial,  Helen  Faa,  relic  of 
the  captain,  Lucretia  Faa,  and 
nine  other  female  gipsies,  were 
brought  to  judgment  and  con- 
demned to   be  drowned;  but  this 

*  The  family  of  Cassillis  in  early 
times  had  been  so  powerful,  that  the  head 
of  it  was  generally  termed  the  King  of 
Carrick.  Sympson,  in  his  description  of 
Galloway  (MS.  Adv.  Lib.)  tells  us  that 
"  the  Earls  of  Cassillis  had  long  since 
great  power  in  Gallovvay,\vhich  occasion- 
ed the  following  rhyme: 

"  'Twixt  Wigton  and  the  town  of  Air, 

Portpatrick  and  the  cruives  of  Cree, 
No  man  needs  think  for  to  hide  there, 
Unless  he  court  with  Kennedie." 

f'ol.X.  No.LJ'IIf. 


barbarous  sentence  was  afterwards 
commuted  to  that  of  banishment) 
under  pain  of  death  to  them  and  all 
their  race  should  they  ever  return 
to  Scotland. 

The  Earl  of  Cassillis  divorced 
his  lady  a  mensd  et  tlioro,  and  con- 
fined her,  as  lias  been  already  said, 
in    a    tower    at    Maybole,   where 
eiirht  heads  carved  in  stone,  below 
one  of  the  turrets,  are  still  pointed 
out  as  representing    eight  of  the 
luckless  Egyptians.      It  ought  to 
be  remembered,  that  this  frail  fair- 
one  did  not  continue  the  noble  fa- 
mily into  which  she  married;  for 
she  bore  only  two  daughters  to  the 
earl,    of    whom   one    became   the 
wife  of  Lord  Dundonald,  and  the 
other,  in  the  last  stage  of  antiquated 
virginity,  bestowed  her  hand,  and 
what   was  still  better,    her   purse, 
upon  the  youthful  Gilbert  Burnet, 
then  the  busy  intriguing  inmate  of 
Hamilton     Palace,     where     Lady 
Margaret  Kennedy  generally  re- 
sided, afterwards  the  well  known 
Bishop  of  Salisbury. 

The  copy  of  the  ballad  subjoin- 
ed was  transferred  to  paper  from 
the  recitation  of  a  peasant  in  Gal- 
loway, and  will  be  found  to  vary 
from  the  poem  as  it  is  commonly 
printed.  Some  lines  have  been 
omitted  on  account  of  their  indeli- 
cacy, but  it  is  comfortable  to  con- 
clude, from  the  last  stanza  save 
one,  that  the  lady,  though  she 
thought  fit  to  elope,  had  not  been 
actually  criminal  when  her  lord 
overtook  the  gang  and  secured  his 
rambling  moiety.  It  is  to  be  re- 
gretted that  he  seems  not  to  have 

o 

taken  her  word  on  that  subject;  al- 
beit he  cannot  justly  be  much 
blamed,  considering  his  wife's 
giddiness,  the  wicked  powers  of 
D  D 


196 


VOYAGES  FOR  THE  OISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH-WESTERN  PASSAGE. 


glamour,  and  the  enterprising  spi- 
rit of  fifteen  valiant  men,  "  black, 
but  very  bonnie." 

The  gypsies  tbey  came  to  my  Lord  Cassillis' 
yett, 

And,  O  !   but  they  sang  bonnie; 
They  sang  sae  sweet  and  sae  complete, 

That  down  came  our  fair  ladie. 

She  came  tripping  down  the  stairs, 

And  all  her  maids  before  her; 
As  soon  as  they  saw  her  well-far'd  face, 

They  coost  their  glamourie  owre  her. 

She  gave  to  them  the  good  wheat  bread, 

And  they  gave  her  the  ginger; 
But  she  gave  them  a  far  better  thing, 

The  gold  ring  off  her  finger. 

"  Will  ye  go  with  me,  my  hinny  and  my 
heart, 
Will  ye  go  with  me,  my  dearie, 
And  I  will  swear  by  the  staff  of  my  spear, 
That  your  lord  shall  nae  mair  come  near 
thee?" 

u  Gar  take  from  me  my  silk  manteel, 

And  bring  to  me  a  plaidie, 
For  I  will  travel  the  world  owre 

Along  with  my  gypsie  laddie. 

"  I  could  sail  the  seas  with  my  Jockie  Faa, 
I  could  sail  the  seas  with  my  dearie ; 

I  could  sail  the  seas  with  my  Jockie  Faa, 
And   with  pleasure  co-uld  drown  with  my 
dearie." 

They  wander'd  high,  they  wander'd  low, 

They  wander'd  late  and  early, 
Until  they  came  to  an.  old  tenant's  barn, 

And  by  this  time  she  was  weary. 

"  Last  night  I  lay  in  a  weel  made  bed, 

And  my  noble  lord  beside  me  ; 
And  now  I  must  lie  in  an  old  tenant's'barn, 

And  the  black  crew  glowring  owre  me." 

"  O  !   hold   your  tongue,  my  hinny  and  my 
heart, 
O !  hold  your  tongue,  my  dearie, 
For  I  will  swear  by  the  moon  and  the  stars, 
That  thy  lord  shall  nae  mair  come  near 
thee." 


They  wander'd  high,  they  wander'd  low, 

They  wander'd  late  and  early, 
Until  they  came  to  that  wan  water, 

And  by  this  time  she  was  wearie. 

"  Aften  have  I  rode  that  wan  water, 
And  my  Lord  Cassillis  beside  me, 

And  now  I  must  set  in  my  white  feet  and 
wade, 
And  carry  the  gypsie  laddie*." 

By  and  bye  came  home  this  noble  lord, 

And  asking  for  his  ladie, 
The  one  did  cry,  the  other  did  reply, 

She  is  gone  with  the  gypsie  laddie. 

"  Go  saddle  me  the  black,"  he  says, 
"  The  brawn  rides  never  so  speedi-, 

And  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink 
Till  I  bring  home  my  ladie." 

He  wander'd  high,  he  wander'd  low, 

He  wander'd  late  and  early, 
Until  he  came  to  that  wan  water, 

And  there  he  spied  his  ladie. 

"  O!  wilt  thou  go  home,  my  hinny  and  my 
heart, 

0  !  wilt  thou  go  home,  my  dearie, 
And  I  will  close  thee  in  a  close  room, 

Where  no  man  shall  come  near  thee?" 

"  I  will  not  go  home,   my  hinny  and  my 
heart, 

1  will  not  go  home,  my  dearie, 

If  I  have  brewn  good  bucr,   I  will   drink  of 
the  same, 
And  my  lord  shall  nae  mair  come  near  me. 

'*  But  I   will  swear  by    the  moon    and   the 
stars, 

And  the  sun  that  shines  so  clearly, 
That  I  am  as  free  of  the  gypsie  gang 

As  the  hour  my  mother  did  bear  me." 

They  were  fifteen  valiant  men, 

Black,  but  very  bonnie, 
And  they  lost  all  their  lives  for  one — 

The  Earl  of  Cassillis'  ladie. 

*  A  ford,  by  which  the  countess  and  her 
lover  are  said  to  have  crossed  the  rirer  Doon 
from  a  wood  near  Cassillis  House,  is  still  de- 
nominated the  Gipsies'  steps. 


ON  THE  VOYAGES  FOR  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH- 
WESTERN PASSAGE. 


Recollecting  the  interest  that 
is  still  felt  upon  this  subject,  and 
the  hopes  more  strongly  entertain- 


ed since  what  has  been  satirically 
called  the  re-discovery  of  Baffin's 
Bay  by  Captain  Ross,  of  the  ex- 


VOYAGES  FOR  Till;  DISGOVEJIY  OF  A  NORTH-WESTKRN  PA8S1GE. 


197 


istence  of  a  north-west  passage,  we 
have  thought  that  a  slight  sketch 
of  the  attempts  hitherto  made  for 
the  same  purpose  would  not  he  un- 
acceptable on  all  accounts.  Our 
readers  may  rely  upon  the  accu- 
racy of  the  details. 

The  first  British  expedition  of 
discovery  was  undertaken  in  1553, 
for  the  purpose  of  exploring  a  pas- 
sage to  India  round  the  northern 
shores   of   Europe   and    Asia.     It 
was  an  ohject  to  the  nation  of  al- 
most unbounded  enthusiasm.    The 
discoveries  of  Spain  and  Portugal, 
which  had   opened   new  worlds  to 
the  wonder  of  mankind,  and   had 
deluged  the  mother  countries  with 
gold,  were  still  fresh  in  their  re- 
collection, and  it  was  hoped  that 
the  present  expedition  would  be 
productiveof  results  equally  splen- 
did.     Although   it   was   favoured 
by  government,  and   particularly 
by    the    reigning    monarch,    Ed- 
ward VI.  it  was   undertaken,  and 
the  expense  defrayed,  by  a  body  of 
individuals  united  under  the  title 
oi:  "  Mystery  and  Company  of  the 
Merchants,    Adventurers   for   the 
Discovery  of  Regions,  Dominions, 
Islands,    and     Places    unknown." 
These  are  described  as  "  certain 
grave  citizens  of  London,  and  men 
of  great  wisdom,  and    careful    of 
the  good  of  their  country,1'   who 
seeing   "  that  the  wealth   of   the 
Spaniards  and    Portugals,  by  the 
discovery  of  new  trades  and  coun- 
tries, was  marvellously  increased, 
supposing  the  same  to  be  a  course 
and  mean  for  them  to    obtain  the 
like,    resolved    upon    a   new    and 
strange  navigation."    For  this  pur- 
pose they  subscribed  50001.  which 
was  employed  in    building   three 
vessels,    in    the    Construction    of 


which  all   the  skill  in  ship-build- 
ing which    the   nation    possessed 
was  put  in  requisition.     Not  only 
were   they  put   together,   calked, 
and  pitched  with  the  utmost  care, 
but  an  invention,    then   new,  was 
employed  of  covering  the  keel  with 
thin  sheets  of  lead,  as  a  defence 
against    insects;    and    they    were 
supplied  with  provisions  for  a  year 
and  a  half.     Many  gallant  captains 
sued   for    the    command    of    this 
squadron,  but  the  preference  was 
given  to  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby,  a 
"  valiant  gentleman,"  whose  high 
birth,  distinguished  naval  prowess, 
and  even  his  noble  and  command- 
ing figure,  seemed  to  throw  a  new 
lustre  on  the  expedition.     The  se- 
cond   in    command    was    Richard 
Chancellor,  "  a  man  of  great  es- 
timation for  many    good  parts  of 
wit  in  him."     The  instructions  for 
the  voyage  were  drawn  up  by  Se- 
bastian   Cabot,    governor   of    the 
Merchant  Company,  who  had  him- 
self made   several  important    dis- 
coveries,   and  was    considered   as 
the  most  experienced  mariner  in 
England.     These  instructions  are 
not  unworthy  of  perusal.     They 
contain    many    salutary    exhorta- 
tions to  cleanliness,  harmony,  good 
order,  and  diligence.     It  is  hinted 
that  in  giving  "  advertisements  of 
their  proceedings,"  they  may  do  it, 
"  passing  such  dangers  of  the  sea, 
perils  of  ice,  intolerable  colds,  and 
other  impediments,  which  by  sun- 
dry authors  and  writers  have  mi- 
nistered   matter   of    suspicion    on 
some  heads,  that  this  voyage  could 
not  succeed."     We   cannot  help 
thinking,  however,  that   he   him- 
self has  conjured  up  a  much  more 
serious  and  unfounded  fear,  when 
he  tells  them,  that"  there  are  peo- 
D  d  2 


198    VOYAGES  FOR  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH- WESTERN  PASSAGE. 


pie  that  can  swim  in  the  sea,  ha- 
vens, and  rivers,  naked,  coveting 
to  draw  nigh  your  ships,  desirous  of 
the  bodies  of  men,  which  they  co- 
vet for  meat ;  therefore  diligent 
watch  is  to  be  kept  both  day  and 
niadit."  He  concludeswithtelling 
them,  "  how  many  persons,  as 
well  the  king's  majesty,  the  lords 
of  his  honourable  council,  this 
whole  compan}-,  as  also  your  wives, 
children,  kinsfolks,  allies,  friends, 
and  familiars,  be  replenished  in 
their  hearts  with  ardent  desire  to 
learn  and  know  your  estates,  con- 
ditions, and  welfares,  and  in  what 
likelihood  you  be  in  to  obtain 
this  noble  enterprize,  which  is 
hoped  no  less  to  succeed  to  you, 
than  the  Orient  and  Occident  I  ndias 
have  to  the  high  benefit  of  the  em- 
peror and  kings  of  Portugal." 

The  squadron  sailed  down  the 
Thames  on  the  10th  May,  15.53. 
As  they  passed  Greenwich,  where 
the  court  then  resided,  an  immense 
concourse  assembled  to  behold  and 
hail  them.  The  courtiers  and  chief 
nobility  stood  atthe windows,  while 
the  common  people  covered  the 
shore  and  the  roofs  of  the  houses. 
Guns  were  fired,  handkerchiefs 
waved,  "  the  valleys  and  the  wa- 
ters gave  an  echo,  and  the  mari- 
ners they  shouted  in  such  sort  that 
the  sky  rang  again  with  the  noise 
thereof.  To  be  short,  it  was  a  very 
triumph  (after  a  sort)  in  all  respects 
to  the  beholders."  At  this  moment 
of  exultation,  the  thought  of  the 
mighty  and  unknown  seas  which 
they  were  to  traverse,  instead  of 
damping  hope,  served  only  to  give 
a  new  grandeur  to  the  enterprize. 
No  one,  perhaps,  of  the  thousands 
who  hailed  them  as  they  floated 
down  in  pomp,  amid  discharges  of 


artillery,  and  with  all  their  ensigns 
displayed,  suspected  that  they 
were  victims  adorned  for  the  sacri- 
fice, and  that  this  brilliant  expe- 
dition was  destined  soon  to  have 
so  fatal  an  issue. 

The  squadron  was  detained  a 
considerable  time  by  contrary 
winds  in  sailing  along  the  English 
coast,  and  having  in  vain  attempt- 
ed to  reach  Scotland,  they  then 
directed  their  course  towards  the 
coast  of  Norway.  Here  they  fell 
in  with  that  multitude  of  little 
islands  which  extend  along  the 
north-eastern  extremity'  of  Scan- 
dinavia. They  touched  at  those  of 
Lofoot(LofToden), which  they  found 
"  plentifully  inhabited,  and  very 
gentle  people."  Here  they  obtain- 
ed some  directions  for  sailing 
along  the  coast,  and  fixed  upon 
Ward  buys,  a  harbour  of  Fin  mark, 
for  their  rendezvous  in  case  of  dis- 
persion. Soon  after  putting  to  sea, 
there  came  on  "  flaws  of  winds 
and  terrible  whirlwinds,"  in  which 
they  suffered  dreadfully.  The  pin- 
nace of  the  admiral's  ship  was 
dashed  to  pieces,  and  he  lost  sight 
entirely  of  the  other  two  vessels. 
Next  morning  he  discovered  one 
of  them,  the  Confidence,  to  lee- 
ward of  him  ;  but  the  other,  the 
Edward,  was  finally  lost  sight  of. 
The  admiral,  however,  continued 
to  push  forward,  in  order  to  reach 
Wardhuys;  but  he  sailed  on  with- 
out discovering  any  appearance 
of  land,  which,  indeed,  the  sound- 
ings (of  180  fathoms)  indicated  to 
be  at  a  great  distance;  so  that  it 
appeared  "  that  the  land  lay  not 
as  the  globemade  mention."  Thus 
bewildered  on  this  vast  and  stormy 
sea,  he  continued,  however,  to 
press  towards  his  destination.     In 


VOYAGES  FOR  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH-WESTERN  PASSAGE. 


199 


a  few  days  he  descried  land,  but 
covered  with  ice  and  desolation. 
Geographers  have  doubted  what 
land  this  could  be  ;  some  supposing 
it  to  be  Spitsbergen,  while  others 
more  plausibly  believe  it  to  be 
part  or'  Nova  Zembla.  In  either 
case  it  would  present  but  only 
one  aspect:  rocks  rising-  over 
rocks,  with  the  clouds  wrapped 
round  their  icy  pinnacles;  while 
no  sound  could  be  wafted  over  the 
waves,  but  the  crush  of  its  falling- 
ice,  and  the  hungry  roar  of  its  mon- 
sters. Willoughby,  however,  con- 
tinued for  several  days  longer  to 
push  to  the  northward  ;  but  find- 
ing that  his  vessel  became  crazy 
and  took  in  water,  while  instead 
of  reaching  the  golden  plains  of 
India  and  Cathay,  he  was  plunging- 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  regions 
of  perpetual  winter,  he  deemed  it 
needful  to  turn,  and  seek  a  harbour 
where  they  might  be  refitted.  Af- 
ter several  days'  sail,  they  came 
in  sight  of  a  coast,  but  so  shallow 
that  they  could  not  approach  it. 
They  beat  about  for  some  time  on 
these  unknown  and  desolate  shores, 
without  obtaining  a  sight  of  a  hu- 
man being,  and  at  length  came  to 
a  harbour,  where  it  appeared  the 
ships  could  lie  in  safety.  It  was 
now  only  September;  but  it  was 
here  the  depth  of  winter,  intense 
frosts  and  tempests  of  snow  driving- 
through  the  air;  while  the  sun, 
even  at  mid-day,  appearing  only 
a  little  above  the  horizon,  announ- 
ced the  speedy  closing  in  of  the 
polar  night. 

This  haven  they  never  left;  but 
the  journal  here  stops,  and  a  veil 
hangs  over  the  varied  forms  of  fa- 
mine and  death  which  beset  them 
in  their  last  extremity.    There  was 


only  found  in  the  ship  a  will  by  Sir 
Hugh  Willoughby,  dated  in  .Janu- 
ary, which  intimates  that  he  was 
then  alive,  though  sensible  pro- 
bably of  his  approaching  fate. 
England  waited  in  vain  for  news  of 
her  expedition  ;  but  in  the  sum- 
mer of  the  following  year,  some 
Russ  fishermen,  travelling  this  way, 
found  the  ships,  with  their  lifeless 
tenants.  They  carried  the  tidings 
to  St.  Nicholas  (Archangel),  where 
there  happened  to  be  an  English 
merchant,  who  conveyed  home  the 
sad  intelligence.  The  place  prov- 
ed to  be  the  river  of  Arzina,  near 
Kegor,  in  Russian  Lapland.  In 
1554,  the  company  sent  out  two 
vessels  to  bring  home  theships  thus 
frozen  up.  Before  executing  their 
commission,  they  touched  at  Arch- 
angel, and  took  on  board  a  Russian 
ambassador  and  his  suite.  Fate 
seemed  never  to  relent  against  this 
unfortunate  expedition  :  it  suffer- 
ed complete  shipwreck  on  the 
northern  coast  of  Scotland;  the 
two  vessels,  which  were  probably 
now  unsound,  went  entirely  to  the 
bottom,  and  a  great  number  of 
persons  were  drowned.  The  am- 
bassador, however,  escaped, and  was 
received  at  the  court  of  Scotland. 
We  have  still  to  trace  the  pro- 
gress of  Chancellor,  commander 
of  the  Edward,  who,  as  already 
observed,  was  separated  in  a  storm 
from  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby.  His 
career  was  more  fortunate.  He 
appears  never  to  have  lost  sight  of 
the  coast,  and  sailing-  close  along 
it,  was  not  long  of  reaching  Ward- 
buys.  Here  he  waited  a  week  for 
his  companions,  after  which  he 
judged  proper  to  proceed  alone, 
without  regard  to  the  murmurs  of 
his  crew,  determining  "  either  to 


200  ON   THE   DRESS  AND    FASHIONS   OF   OUR   ANCESTORS. 


bring  that  to  pass  which  was  in- 
tended, or  else  to  die  the  death." 
Accordingly  he  "  held  on  his  course 
towards  that  unknown  part  of  the 
world,  and  sailed  so  far,  that  he 
came  at  last  to  the  place  where  he 
found  no  night  at  all,  but  a  con- 
tinual light  and  brightness  of  the 
sun  shining  clearly  upon  the  huge 
and  mighty  sea."  Assisted  by  this 
perpetual  light  of  the  northern 
midsummer,  he  came  "  into  a  cer- 
tain great  bay"  (the  White  Sea). 
After  looking  diligently  about,  they 
discovered  a  boat  with  some  fisher- 
men, who,  "  amazed  at  the  strange 
greatness  of  his  ship,  began  pre- 
sently to  avoid  and  flee;"  but  the. 
courteous  deportment  of  Chan- 
cellor soon  converted  them  into 
friends.  The  English  now  heard 
for  the  first  time  the  name  of  Rus- 
sia, which  distance  and  barbarism 
had  hitherto  concealed  from  them, 
and  learned  that  it  was  governed 
by  a  great  emperor,  Juan  Vassilo- 
vitch.  Being  interrogated  in  their 
turn,  the}*  gave  an  account  of  Eng- 
land, and  asserted  that  the  sole  ob- 
ject of  the  king  in  sending  them, 
was  to  form  relations  of  amity  and 
commerce  with  the  Russian  mon- 


arch. "  The  barbarians  heard 
these  things  very  gladly,"  and  it 
was  soon  arranged  that  Chancellor 
should  take  a  journey  to  court, 
where  he  was  well  received,  and 
carried  home  an  account  of  Rus- 
sia, which  excited  the  highest  in- 
terest in  England.  A  company 
of  Russian  merchants  was  imme- 
diately formed,  and  a  regular  trade 
established  with  Archangel. 

The  English  merchants  were  still 
not  discouraged  from  attempting 
the  north-east  passage ;  on  the 
contrary,  the  establishment  of  a 
fixed  point  at  Archangel  appeared 
to  promise  new  facilities  for  effect- 
ing it.  A  vessel  was  therefore  sent 
in  1556,  under  Stephen  Burrough, 
who  had  acted  as  master  under 
Chancellor.  Burrough  penetrated 
as  far  as  Nova  Zembla  and  the 
straits  of  Waygatz,  which  sepa- 
rate that  great  insular  territory  from 
the  continent;  but  contrary  winds, 
and  the  formidable  appearance  of 
the  ice,  deterred  him  from  pro- 
ceeding. He  wintered  at  Colmo- 
gri. 

We  shall  pursue  this  subject  in 
an  ensuing  number. 


ON  THE  DRESS  AND  FASHIONS  OF  OUR  ANCESTORS, 


"  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a 

Mr.  Editor, 

Having  lately  seen  a  rare 
and  curious  tract,  bearing  the  fan- 
ciful title  of  "  Uuipps  for  upstart 
new-fangled  Gentlewomen  ;  or,  a 
Glasse  to  view  the  Pride  of  vain- 
glorious Women,"  printed  at  the 
latter  end  of  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, it  occurred  to  me  that  an  ex- 
tract from  it  might  be  entertaining 
to  vour  female  readers.      I  shall 


deform'd  thief  this  fashion  is?" 

I  add  a  few  observations  upon  con- 
]  temporary  writers,  and  others  who 
|  have  treated  upon  this  subject, 
which  may  answer  the  purpose  of 
illustration.  The  tract  before  me 
consists  of  satirical  raillery  against 
the  preposterous  fashions  of  the 
Elizabethan  age.  Although  the 
humour  may  be  a  little  severe,  yet 
the  sentiment  is  not  the  less  true; 
but  I  doubt  much  whether  it  made 


ON    ?HK    DRESS   AND    FASHIONS    OF   OUR    ANCESTORS. 


201 


a  due  impression  in  the  quarter 
against  which  it  was  directed. 
The  subsequent  extract  may  per- 
haps, even  at  the  present  period, 
prove  a  useful  hint: 

These  flaming  heads  with  staring  hair, 

Tin  so  wires  turn'd  like  horns  of  rain, 
These  painted  faces  which  they  wear, 
Can  tell  from  whence  they  came? 
Don  Satan,  lord  of  feigned  lies, 
All  these  new  fanglei  did  devise. 

Again  the  author  ridicules  the 
use  of  superfluous  appendages  in 
dress  in  rather  a  Hudihrastic  style. 
We  may  observe,  however,  that 
the  fan,  against  which  the  follow- 
ing lines  are  directed,  is  now  much 
out  of  use : 

Were  fans  and  flaps  of  feathers  found 

To  flit  away  the  flisking  flies, 
As  tail  of  mare  that  hangs  on  ground 
When  heat  of  summer  doth  arise; 
The  wit  of  women  we  might  praise, 
For  finding  out  so  great  an  ease. 

But  seeing  they  are  still  in  hand, 

In  liojise,  in  field,  in  church,  in  street ; 
In  summer,  winter,  water,  land  ; 
In  cold,  in  heat,  in  dry,  in  wet; 

I  judge  they  are  for  wives  such  tools 
As  baubles  are  in  plays  for  fools. 

The  endeavour  to  conceal  some 
blemish  or  deformity  is  the  origin 
of  many  fashions.  To  this  source, 
we  may  attribute  the  invention  of 
ruffs,  hoops.,  cushions,  and  other 
monstrous  absurdities.  Thus  as 
early  as  the  reign  of  Edward  VI. 
patches  were  introduced  into  Eng- 
land by  a  foreign  lad)',  who,  by 
this  expedient,  ingeniously  con- 
trived to  cover  a  wen  on  her  neck. 
Henry  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  An- 
jou,  brought  into  fashion  shoes 
with  long  points,  to  conceal  a  large 
excrescence  on  one  of  his  feet; 
and  Charles  VII.  invented  long 
coats,  to  hide  his  ill-made  legs.  On 
the  other  hand,  many  have  adapted 
fashion  to  set  off  peculiar  beauties 
to  advantage.     Isabella  of  Bavaria 


introduced  the  fashion  of  leaving 
the  neck  and  part  of  the  sho tilde  is 
uncovered,  because  she  was  re- 
markable for  the  fairness  of  her 
skin.  Fashion  also  very  frequently 
originated  in  circumstances  of  the 
most  trivial  nature.  The  follow- 
ing may  be  instanced  as  an  exam- 
ple: "  Isabella,  the  daughter  of 
Philip  II.  and  wife  of  the  Arch- 
duke Albert,  vowed  not  to  change 
her  linen  till  Ostend  was  taken: 
this  siege,  unluckily  for  her  com- 
fort, lasted  three  years,  and  the 
supposed  colour  of  the  archduch- 
ess's linen  gave  rise  to  a  fashion- 
able colour,  hence  called  V  habemi, 
or  the  Isabella,  a  kind  of  whitish 
dirty  yellow." 

Puttenham,  in  his  "Art  of  Po- 
etry," speaking  of  the  variety  of 
dress  and  fashion,  remarks,  "  So 
was  it  here  in  England,  till  her 
majesty's  most  noble  father,  for  di- 
vers good  respects,  caused  his  own 
head,  and  all  his  courtiers',  to  be 
polled,  and  his  beard  to  be  cut 
short.  Before  that  time,  it  was 
thought  more  decent,  both  for  old 
men  and  young,  to  be  all  shaven, 
and  towearlong  hair,  either  round- 
ed or  square.  Now  again,  at  this 
time,  the  young  gentlemen  of  the 
court  have  taken  up  the  long  hair- 
trailing  on  their  shoulders,  and 
think  it  more  decent;  for  what  re- 
spect I  would  be  glad  to  know." 

The  same  order  given  by  Henry 
VIII.  to  his  courtiers,  was  followed 
by  Louis  VII.  at  the  direction  of 
the  bishops;  but  the  consequeiices 
were  very  different,  and  it  is  a  re- 
markable instance  of  the  influence 
of  custom  over  the  female  mind. 
Immediately  after  Louis  VII.  had 
obeyed  the  injunctions,  Eleanor, 
his  queen,  treated   him  with   the 


202 


ON    THJ-:    DRIijSg   AND    FASHIONS    OF   OUIi    ANCESTORS. 


utmost    contempt:    she    re\enged  ; 
herself  as  she  thought  proper,  and 
a  divorce  was  the  result. 

It  has  been  justly  observed, 
"  that  there  are  flagrant  follies  in 
fashion  which  must  be  endured 
while  they  reign,  and  which  never 
appear  ridiculous  till  they  are  out 
of  fashion."  But  fashion  has  been 
carried  to  so  extravagant  an  ex- 
ceess,  as  to  become  a  sort  of  pub- 
lic nuisance,  and  to  have  required 
the  interference  of  government. 
Chancer,  in  his  Parson's  Tale, 
makes  a  complaint  of  this  nature 
against  the  beaux  of  his  day. 

The  fashion  ran  on  square-toed 
shoes  in  the  reign  of  Mary,  and  a 
proclamation  was  issued,  ordering 
that  no  person  should  wear  shoes 
more  than  six  inches  square  at  the 
toes.  In  the  succeeding  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  the  royal  authority  was 
again  exercised,  and  special  offi- 
cers were  employed  to  cut  the  ruffs 
and  break  the  rapiers  of  the  beaux 
of  the  day.  Stow  has  this  remark 
upon  the  subject:  "  In  that  time 
he  was  held  the  greatest  gallant  |i 
that  had  the  deepest  ruff  and 
longest  rapier :  the  offence  to  the  |! 
eye  of  the  one,  and  hurt  to  the  i 
life  of  the  subject  that  came  by 
the  other,  caused  her  majesty  to 
make  proclamation  against  them 
both,  and  to  place  selected  grave 
citizens  at  every  gate,  to  cut  the 
ruffs  and  break  the  rapiers'  points 
of  all  passengers  that  exceeded  a 
yard  in  length,  and  a  nail  of  a 
yard  in  depth  of  their  ruffs." 

Decker,  a  writer  of  the  reign  of 
James  I.  ridicules  this  absurd  fa- 
shion in  his  Gull's  Hornbook,  1609: 
"  Nor  the  French  standing  collar, 
your  treble  -  quadruple  daidalian 
ruff,  nor  your  stiff-necked  rabatos, 


that  have  more  arches  for  pride  to 
row  under  than    can   stand  under 
five    London    bridges,    durst    not 
then  set  themselves  out  in  print; 
for  the  patent  for  starch  could  by 
no   means    be    signed.        Fashion 
then  was  counted    a  disease,  and 
horses  died  of  it;  but  now,  thanks 
to  folly,  it  is  held  the  only  rare 
physic,    and    purest  golden    asses 
live  upon  it."     In  the  reign  of  our 
maiden    queen,    Mrs.  Dinghen,  a 
Dutchwoman,  introduced    the  art 
of  starching — an  art  which  raised 
the   wrath  of  all   the   Puritans  of 
that  day.     It  was   indeed   carried 
then  to  a  very  high  pitch  of  absur- 
dity.    No  fewer  than   five  differ- 
ent coloured  starches  were  employ- 
ed, and  the  Dutchwoman  obtained 
a  fortune  by  teaching   the  art  at 
four  and    five   guineas  a   learner. 
Yellow  starch  was  particularly  in 
vogue,  and    was    introduced    as   a 
French   fashion    by  Mrs.   Turner, 
who  was  executed  for  the  murder 
of   Sir    Thomas    Overbury    in    a 
lawn  ruff  of  her  favourite  colour. 
Yellow  starch  is  mentioned  as  being 
in   common   use,   in   the  plays   of 
Alhumazar,  The    Blind  Lady,  and 
The  Parson's  Wedding,  all  written 
about  that  time. 

I  cannot  help  here  noticing  a 
remark  or  two  of  Philip  Stubbs,  a 
staunch  Puritan,  who  lived  and 
wrote  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth. 
However  absurd  the  fashion  he  ri- 
dicules may  be  in  itself,  the  obser- 
vations of  the  Puritan  will  be  ac- 
knowledged to  be  still  more  ludi- 
crous. "They  have  great  and  mon- 
strous ruffs,  made  either  of  cam- 
bric, holland,  lawn,  or  else  of  some 
other  the  finest  cloth  that  can  be 
got  for  money,  whereof  some  be  a 
quarter  of  a  yard  deep,  yea  some 


^- 


SKETCH    Of   THF    LIFK    OF    MADEMOISIif.LIi    RAUCOURT. 


203 


more,  very  few  less,  so  that  they 
stand  a  full  quarter  of  a  yard  (and 
more)  from  their  necks,  hanging 
over  their  shoulder  points  instead 
of  a  veil.  But  when  Mollis  with 
his  hlasts,  or  Neptune  with  his 
storms,  chances  to  hit  upon  the  cra- 
zy hark  of  their  bruised  ruffs,  then 
they  go  flip-flap  in  the  wind,  lying 
upon  their  shoulders  like  the  dish- 
clout  of  a  slut.  The  Devil,  as  he 
in  the  fulness  of  his  malice  first 
invented  these  great  ruffs,  so  had 
he  now  found  out  also  two  great 
pillars  to  bear  up  and  maintain 
this  his  kingdom  of  pride ;  and 
lest  they  should  fall  down,  they 
are  smeared  and  starched  with  the 
Devil"1  s  liquor,  I  mean  starch.  Be- 
yond all  this  they  have  a  further 
fetch,  nothing  inferior  to  the  rest; 
as,  namely,  three  or  four  degrees 
of  minor  ruffs,  placed  gradative  one 
beneath  another,  and  all  under 
Master  Devil  ruf."  Some  part 
of  this  severe  but  coarse  attack  may 
be  merited  in  our  day. 

In  this  abuse  of  the  prevailing 
fashions  of  the  day,  Henoch  Clap- 
ham,  in   his  "  Errors  of  the  Left 


Hand,"  1608;  Thomas  Nash,  in  his 
"  Christ's  Tears  over  Jerusalem," 
1593;  L.Wright,    in  his  "   Sum- 
mons for  Sleepers,"  1596,  and  many 
others,  have  joined  ;  but  the  attack 
has    generally  been    made    with 
more  propriety  and  less  acrimony 
than  by  the  wrathful  Stubbs.    Put- 
tenham  is,  as  we  have  before  ob- 
served, not  silent  upon  the  point. 
An  English  beau,  at  the  time  he 
wrote  his  **  Art  of  Poesy,"  was  a 
fantastic  compound  of  all  the  fa- 
shions in  Europe  and  Asia.  "  May 
it  not  seem  enough  for  a^ourtier 
to  know  how  to  wear  a  feather  and 
set  his  cap  aflaunt,    his   chain  en 
echarpe,  a  straightbuskina/'  Inglese, 
a  loose  a  la  Turcjue,  the   cap  al- 
ia Spaniola,  the  breech  a  la  Fran- 
arise,  by  twenty  manner  of  new-fa- 
shioned garments   to  disguise  his 
body,   and   his  face  with   as  many 
countenances,   whereof    it    seems 
there  may  be  many  that  make  a 
very  art  and  study  who  can  shew 
himself  most  fine,  I  will   not  say 
most  foolish  and  ridiculous  r" 

C.  F.  M. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  SINGULAR  LIFE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  RAUCOURT, 
THE  LATE  CELEBRATED  FRENCH  ACTRESS. 


Madkmoisklle  Raucourt  was 
born  in  Paris  about  1756,  and  con- 
sequently at.  the  time  of  her  death 
was  in  her  58th  or  59th  year.  Her 
extraction  was  low,  her  father  being 
a  barber,  or  (to  give  him  the  high- 
est title  in  his  profession)  a  hair- 
dresser, in  the  fauxbourg  St.  An- 
toine.  He  had  a  large  family,  of 
which  Louisa  (for  that  was  Ma- 
demoiselle Raucourt's  christian 
name,  or  one  of  them,)  was  nearly 
the  youngest.     He  was  perruquier 

Vol  X.  No.  LVIIL 


to  one  of  the  minor  theatres,  and 
had  frequentl}'-  an  opportunity  of 
procuring  free  admissions  ;  and, 
most  probably  in  consequence  of 
her  numerous  visits  to  theatrical 
representations,  Louisa  very  early 
obtained  and  evinced  a  strong  pro- 
pensity to  the  stage:  her  admira- 
tion of  it  soon  became  so  danger- 
ous, that  it  was  found  necessary  to 
prohibit  her  from  seeing  any  of  the 
performances.  Her  persevering 
and  enterprizing  disposition  often 
E  h 


20-4 


SKETCH    OF    THE    LIFE    OF    MADIiMOISMLLF.    RAUCOl'ftT. 


defeated  the  vigilance  of  her  pa- 
rents, who  were  at  length  compel  led 
to  confine  her  in  an  upper  apart- 
ment of  the  house.  Opposition 
only  seemed  to  give  fresh  vigour 
to  her  resolution  to  appear  before 
the  public,  and  at  the  age  of  thir- 
teen or  fourteen  she  made  her  es- 
cape by  the  window  of  the  room, 
letting  herself  down  two  stories  by 
means  of  her  bed-clothes. 

Being  now  dependent  upon  her- 
self alone,  her  first  expedient  was 
to  change  her  dress  for  that  of  a 
boy,  and  she  proceeded  to  Rouen, 
and  from  thence  to  Havre  de  Grace, 
where  she  entered  into  an  engage- 
ment with  the  manager  of  the  thea- 
tre, never  making  any  discovery  of 
her  sex;  she  also  assumed  a  feign- 
ed  name,  under  which  she  played 
the  few  parts  suited  to  her  age, 
with  considerable  success.  It  is 
Soid.  that  while  at  Havre  her  fa- 
ther heard  of  her;  but  his  inqui- 
ries were  fruitless,  as  her  artifices 
had  prevented  discover}-,  and  Lou- 
isa Raucourt  was  unknown  to  her 
employers,  to  her  companions,  or 
to  her  auditors.  She  afterwards, 
in  the  same  dress,  performed  at 
the  provincial  theatres;  but  at  Ge- 
neva she  was  first  under  the  neces- 
sity of  making  a  disclosure  of  her 
sex,  but  that  only  to  an  individual. 
The  facts  of  this  discovery  almost 
bear  the  appearance  of  fable,  and 
remind  us  of  the  story  of  Zel- 
mane  and  Pamela  in  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  Arcadia,  and  of  Viola 
and  Olivia  in  Tueljlli  Night:  it 
will  doubtless  bring  to  the  recol- 
lection of  such  of  our  readers  as 
are  more  learned  than  we  are  in 
novels,  similar  incidents  in  many 
modern  romances.  Louisa  made 
a  fine  spirited  lad,  with  an  intel- 


ligent if  not  a  handsome  counte- 
nance, and  the  roundness  and  firm- 
ness of  the  tone  of  her  voice  assist- 
ed greatly  the  deception.  It  hap- 
pened that  while  she  was  playing 
at  Geneva,  a  young  lady  of  some 
rank  and  fortune  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  fall  in  love  with  her,  and 
many  letters  are  said  to  have  pass- 
ed between  the  parties,  in  which  the 
supposed  youth  made  warm  pro- 
testations of  unceasing  attachment, 
&c.  &c.  in  order  to  keep  up  the  il- 
lusion, which  it  was  so  important 
to  maintain.  Secret  interviews 
soon  followed  at  the  entreaty  of  the 
ardent  Genevese,  during  which 
Louisa  still  had  the  art  to  elude  ti:e 
discovery,  and  to  convince  the 
young  lady  of  the  sincerity  of  a  re- 
turn of  passion,  that  could  only  be 
pretended. 

These  proceedings,  which  ap- 
peared almost  inevitable, only  drew 
our  heroine  into  further  difficul- 
ties, and  matters  at  length  were 
driven  to  such  extremities,  that  an 
elopement,  and  subsequent  mar- 
riage, were  ultimately  proposed  by 
the  party  to  whom,  in  transactions 
of  this  delicate  nature,  such  sug- 
gestions are  usually  forbidden.  It 
was  impossible  now  to  avoid  a  dis- 
covery, unless  Louisa  would  con- 
sent to  forfeit  her  engagement  and 
leave  Geneva; she  therefore  deter- 
mined to  avow  her  sex  to  her  iiuia-- 
morata,  to  the  infinite  disappoint- 
ment and  confusion  of  the  indis- 
creet female  who  had  made  the 
first  advances.  Doubtless,  indigna- 
tion at  the  imposition  which  ap- 
peared to  have  been  cruelly  per- 
severed in,  was  the  first  impulse, 
but  on  reflection,  she  thought  it 
better  not  to  make  public  the  se- 
cret of  her  own  folly  and  of  Leu- 


5KKTCH    OF    THli    LIFE    OF     MADI.MOISKLLTt    HAUCOURT. 


sos 


isa's  sex:  the  latter,  after  having 
completed  her  undertaking,  quitted 
the  eity,  still  successful  in  her 
scheme  of  public  delusion. 

On  the  advance  of  mature! 
years,  when  the  proportions  of  the 
female  form  became  too  evident 
for  concealment,  Mademoiselle 
Kaucourt  was  obliged  to  resume 
her  female  attire,  and  at  the  age  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years,  first 
came  out  at  the  theatre  of  Bour- 
deaux  as  a  woman,  performing  a 
woman's  part,  no  persons  there 
being  acquainted  with  the  trans- 
formation she  had  undergone.  It 
is  probable  that  her  long  habit  of 
wearing  the  dress  of  a  male  had 
given  her  an  awkwardness  of  man- 
ner and  a  coarseness  of  deport- 
ment, which  at  once  she  was  un- 
able to  overcome;  and  her  ill  suc- 
cess at  Bourdeaux  is  perhaps  to  be 
attributed  partly  to  this  cause. 
She  left  the  stage  in  some  disgust 
i'<;r  two  3-ears,  and  went  to  visit 
her  father,  to  whom  she  was  re- 
conciled, and  who  received  her  as 
a  child  repenting  the  errors  of 
past  conduct,  and  willing  to  quit 
a  profession  that,  notwithstanding, 
had  rendered  her  independent  of 
her  friends.  Louisa  was  far,  how- 
ever, from  giving  up  her  projects 
of  ambition  and  notoriety,  and 
having  industriously  employed  the 
intervening;  time  in  the  accom- 
plishments  necessary  for  her  re- 
newed undertaking,  sheagain  quit- 
ted Paris,  and  engaged  herself  to 
the  proprietors  of  the  theatre  at 
Lyons. 

Her  success  in  her  renewed  ex- 
ertions was  more  than  equal  to  her 
hopes  :  at  first  she  attempted  little, 
but  gradually  rose  to  parts  of  more 


||  importance  and  prominence,  of  a 
light  easy  comic  cast,  that  required 
only  mtdiocrc    talents:   indeed,  on 
the  French  stage,  excepting  in  the 
higher  walks    of   tragedy,  women 
are  not  often  called  upon   to  per- 
form characters  that  demand  any 
very  rare  abilities.     It  should  seem 
from  the  great  degree  of  applause 
with    which     Mademoiselle    Kau- 
court for  the  last  twelve  or  fifteen 
years  has  represented  tragic  cha- 
racters, and  those  only,  as  if  she 
had  in  the  earlier  part  of  her  life 
mistaken  her  forte.     We  have  had 
several  instances  of  this  kind  upon 
our   own    stage,   and  even   within 
our  own  knowledge;  but  the  most 
recent,  as  well  as  the  most  singu- 
lar, is  that  of  Mr.   Liston.     Who 
would  imagine  that  that  gentleman 
ever  attempted  to  support  the  dig- 
nity of  tragedy?  Who  would  not 
almostswearthat  naturehad  mould- 
ed every  feature  under  the  express 
instructions  of  the  laughter-loving 
goddess,  in  her  mood  of  broadest 
|  humour,    who,    at    his   birth,    ex- 
;;  claimed,  "  He's  mine,  and  stamped 
i|  him  for  her  own  ?"  Yet  Mr.  Liston, 
if  we  are  rightly  informed,   made 
his  first  appearance  on  a  country 
stage  as  the  pensive  Romeo,  and 
I  not  very  long  ago  he  attempted  in 
j  London  to  play  the  part  of  Octa- 
vian,  in  all  the  serious  dismals  of 
|  melancholy    madness,    while    the 
I  convulsed  house  shook  with  crashes 
i  of  involuntary    and  irrestrainable 
1  laughter.     The    reverse    was   the 
case  with  Mademoiselle  Raucourt: 
her  earliest  efforts  were  made  in 
comedy;  although,  were  it  fair  to 
judge  of  her  youth  by   her   age, 
we  should  never  have  guessed  that 
the    fixed    perpendicular   lines  of 
E  F.  2 


206 


SKETCH   OF  THE   LIFE   OF   MADF.MOISKLLE   RAUCOURT. 


her  tragic  countenance  were  ever 
crossed  by  the  horizontal  wrinkles 
of  a  comic  smile. 

She  continued  to  sustain  such 
parts  as  Henriette  in  Moliere's 
Femmes  Savantes  until  she  was 
nearly  thirty,  when  we  find  her 
playing  Atalide  in  the  tragedy  of 
Bajazet,  the  first  serious  part  she 
ever  assumed.  She  was  then  what 
the  French  politely  call  a  rtoubleiir, 
and  the  English  more  plainty  and 
familiarly  a  stop-gap,  as  she  only 
undertook  the  task  in  the  absence 
of  the  actress  who  usuallj'  appear- 
ed in  that  character.  The  circum- 
stances producing  this  alteration, 
which  perhaps  fixed  the  future 
line  of  parts  filled  by  Mademoi- 
selle Raucourt,  are  not  uninterest- 
ing. The  actress  who  should  pro- 
perly have  represented  Atalide  had 
a  lover  in  a  horse  regiment,  then 
quartered  at  Lyons,  which,  not 
long  before,  had  received  orders 
to  hold  itself  in  readiness  to  march. 
From  time  to  time  this  movement 
was  delayed  ;  but  at  length  the  fa- 
tal day  was  fixed,  and  fixed  most 
unfortunately  for  the  young  actress, 
for  Bajazet  was  to  be  played  at  the 
theatre,  and  her  assistance  was  of 
course  required.  But,  as  might 
be  anticipated,  she  determined  to 
risk  all  hazards  to  follow  her  dra- 
goon, and  to  forfeit  her  engage- 
ment, rather  than  lose  her  lover.  A 
few  days  before  the  marching  of 
the  regiment,  she  communicated 
her  design  in  confidence  to  Made- 
moiselle Raucourt,  who,  as  is  usu- 
al in  such  cases,  finding  advice 
and  remonstrance  vain,  disinter- 
estedly offered  to  fulfil  her  duty; 
and  it  is  said,  actually  learned,  stu- 
died, and  played  the  part,  which 
is  by  no  means  a  short  one,  in  the 


course  of  eight  and  forty  hours. 
The  success  that  attended  this 
friendly  exertion  was  so  flattering, 
•that,  owing  to  this  and  some  other 
causes,  not  long  afterwards  Made- 
moiselle Raucourt  entirely  aban- 
doned comedy,  and  quickly  rose  to 
a  very  considerable  eminence  in 
the  line  of  characters  she  newly 
adopted.  Parts  of  a  graver  cast 
subsequently  better  accorded  with 
her  age,  if  not  with  her  talents. 

We  are  told  of  another  circum- 
stance that  might  have  an  influence 
in  producing  this  change :  we  mean 
a  disappointment  which  our  hero- 
ine about  this  time  received  of  a 
matrimonial  connection.  Although 
she  is  related  to  have  had  many  of- 
fers, and  even  from  persons  of 
distinction,  yet  most  of  them  she 
rejected,  because  the  consequence 
would  have  been  to  withdraw  her 
from  a  pursuit  that  she  loved,  and 
followed  with  great  ardour.  French- 
men in  general  seem,  if  possible, 
more  averse  than  Englishmen,  that 
their  wives  should  continue  public 
exhibitors,  even  if  they  have  been 
educated  to  it.  The  individual 
whose  hand  Mademoiselle  Rau- 
court consented  to  receive  was  a 
subordinate  actor  at  the  same  the- 
atre, and  it  should  appear  made 
love  much  better  in  the  closet  than 
on  the  boards,  at  least  Mademoi- 
selle Raucourt  was  of  that  opinion. 
The  union  was,  however,  inter- 
rupted by  the  hasty  and  ground- 
less jealousy  of  the  intended  hus- 
band, in  the  following  manner: 
During  the  time  that  this  matrimo- 
nial connection  was  in  agitation,  a 
gentleman  of  large  property  was 
industriously  paying  his  addresses 
to  Mademoiselle  Raucourt,  not 
upon  the  most  honourable,  but,  in 


SKETCH   OF  THE    LUTi    OF    MADEMOISELLE   RAUCOUKT. 


207 


a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  upon 
much  the  most  advantageous  terms. 
The  lady  was  inflexible  (foritseems 
she  bore  an  irreproachable  charac- 
ter), resisted  firmly  all  his  efforts 
ami  arts,  disregarded  his  promises, 
and  rejected  his  presents.  She  did 
not  at  first  think  fit  to  communi- 
cate the  circumstance  to  her  ac- 
knowledged lover,  imagining  that 
the  patience  of  his  selfish  oppo- 
nent would  soon  be  exhausted  by 
her  immobility,  without  subjecting 
him  to  the  degrading  chastisement 
and  public  exposure  that  would 
ensue  were  the  matter  known.  The 
avowed  and  received  lover  had, 
however,  by  other  means  obtained 
information,  and  believed  that  his 
mistress  was  deceiving  him  with 
false  hopes,  while  she  would  soon 
gratify  a  more  powerful  admirer 
with  the  accomplishment  of  his 
wishes.  The  lady  was  not  less 
mistaken  in  the  patience  of  her 
wealthy  suitor,  whose  perseverance 
was  so  unremitting  and  importu- 
nate, that  she  could  not  refuse  his 
unwelcome  visits.  His  importuni- 
ties at  length  became  so  trouble- 
some and  intolerable,  that,  to  rid 
herself  of  the  nuisance,  she  deter- 
mined to  write  to  her  intended  hus- 
band, requesting  him  to  interfere 
for  her  rescue.  Unluckily  the  let- 
ter did  not  reach  him,  who  was 
watching  for  the  arrival  of  the 
wealthy  admirer  at  the  house  of 
his  destined  wife.  Mademoiselle 
Raucourt  had  appointed  the  hour, 
and  had  given  notice  of  it  in  the 
letter  she  had  despatched  in  vain; 
she  consequently  expected  her  fu- 
ture spouse,  and  gave  some  encou- 
ragement to  the  object  of  her  aver- 

i 


sion,  in  order  that  the  conviction 
might  be  less  equivocal,  and  the 
punishment  more  severe.  The  un- 
justly suspicious  lover,  watching 
his  opportunity,  rushed  into  the 
apartment  at  the  moment  when  his 
rival  was  upon  his  grateful  knees. 
The  result  was,  that  the  young  ac- 
tor believed  himself  deceived  by 
the  artifice  of  the  lady,  and  af- 
ter stabbing  his  prostrate  enemy 
(though  not  mortally), leftthehouse 
in  despair,  and  never  again  was 
heard  of.  Mademoiselle  Raucourt 
of  course  had  no  means  of  giving 
him  that  information  which  would 
have  removed  his  jealousy  and  re- 
newed his  love. 

Mademoiselle  Raucourt  quitted 
the  stage  during  the  period  of  the 
bloody  tragedies  of  the  French 
Revolution,  supporting  herself  up- 
on the  considerable  sum  she  had 
acquired  by  her  public  exertions. 
She,  however,  re-appeared  in  Pa- 
ris in  1798,  and  from  that  time 
until  her  death,  continued  to  per- 
form at  the  Theatre  Francoise.  Her 
merit  as  an  actress  was  certainly 
not  of  the  very  first  order,  but  she 
was  always  respectable,  and  some- 
times she  carried  excellence  to  the 
fullest  extent  of  which  it  is  capable 
on  the  French  stage.  Talma,  with 
whom  she  generally  acted,  will  se- 
verely regret  her  loss,  and  will 
find  no  tragic  performer  now  on 
the  boards  of  Paris  (with  the  ex- 
ception perhaps  of  Mademoiselle 
Duchesnois)  that  is  equally  capa- 
ble of  giving  hitn  support,  parti- 
cularly in  the  character  of  CEdi- 
pus:  the  Jocasta  of  Mademoiselle 
Rancourt  was  esteemed  her  most 
perfect  performance. 


203 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  SOUTH  OF  FRANCE. 

satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you 
are  something  more  than  you  ap- 
pear,   or    than   the    good    people 


[The  readers  of  the  Repository 
will  doubtless  recollect  the  Letters 
under  the  above  title,  which  ap- 
peared regularly  in  its  Numbers 
for  the  years  1S17  and  1818.  Ma- 
ny indeed  have  expressed  their 
disappointment  and  regret  at  the 
interruption  of  the  Traveller's  ad- 
ventures. Such,  in  particular,  will 
learn  with  pleasure,  that  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  Repository  is  pre- 
paring for  publication  the  entire 
series  of  these  Letters  in  a  distinct 
volume,  and  meanwhile  purposes 
to  introduce  two  or  three  of  them, 
in  continuation  of  those  which  have 
already  been  given  in  this  work.] 


LETTER  XXIII. 
I  know  not,  dear  Edwnrd,  whe- 
ther you  are  acquainted  with  a  cus- 
tom in  which  I  indulge  almost  me-  !  ber   of  places,    large    and    small, 


among  whom  you  are  come,  take 
you  to  be.  On  the  morrow,  when 
you  would  perhaps  wish  to  appear 
more  than  what  you  really  are,  this 
charm  is  gone;  and  it  is  a  question, 
whether  the  anticipated  intercourse 
with  the  great  world  will  compen- 
sate for  the  loss  of  this  gratifica- 
tion, trivial  as  it  ma)'  seem.  But 
were  it  for  no  other  reason,  I  should 
not  like  to  relinquish  my  practice, 
because  I  have  learned  from  expe- 
rience, that  the  first  impression, 
however  vague,  made  upon  me  by 
the  aspect  of  a  town,  is  far  less  li- 
able to  deceive  me  than  its  topo- 
graphers and  hired  panegyrists.  I 
could  mention  to  you  a  great  num- 


chanicu/ly  on  arriving  at  a  strange 
town.  It  is  this:  as  soon  as  I  alight 
I  set  out  upon  a  survey  of  it,  and 
that  for  various  reasons.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  the  only  time  when 


where  I  needed  but  to  alight  from 
w,y  carriage,  to  wade  through  the 
mud  in  their  streets,  to  avoid  the 
streams  poured  down  by  dragons' 
heads  from  the  water-pipes  along 


being  perfectly  unknown,  you  can  jj  the  roofs  of  their  houses,  to  take 
give  full  liberty  to  your  humours  jj  a  glance  at  their  market-places,  or 
and  your  steps,  upon  which  you  to  follow  one  of  their  fashionable 
feel  considerable  restraint  imposed  jj  parties    in    their    promenade,    to 


the  following  day,  if  it  were. only 
by  the  notice  which  your  host  and 
your  lacquey  are  sure  to  take  of 
you.  The  disordered  hair,  un- 
shaved  chin,  and  dusty  clothes, 
that  you  bring  with  you  from  the 
journey,  compel  no  man  to  pull  off 
his  hat  to  you,  or  to  step  respect- 
fully out  of  your  way  ;  neither  do 
you  wish  to  shrink  from  the  eye  of 
any  one,  however  high  his  rank 
and  consequence,  whom  you  may  How  could  they  call  it  a  magnifi- 
chance  to'encounter;  whilst  at  the  I  cent  town  on  account  of  one  sin- 
same  time  you   enjoy  the  further  ■'  gle  street  bordered  on  either  side 


make  up  my  mind  to  proceed  fur- 
ther.    I    could But    to   detain 

you  no  longer  with  this  preamble, 
just  so  did  I  faro  in  the  remarkable 
city  of  Aix. 

It  was  ten  by  my  watch  when  I 
arrived,  and  twelve  when  I  set  out 
again,  though,  during  this  short 
interval,  I  went  to  see  the  church 
of  a  convent  situated  without  the 
walls.     Trust     travellers    indeed! 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  £ol'TH  OF  FRANCE* 


200 


with   palaces,  and   so   broad,  that 
the    members  or'   parliament  who 
live  there,  can  scared)'  distinguish 
one  another  across  it;  regardless 
of  the  many  miserable  lanes  and 
alleys  branching  from  it,  where  hy 
far  the  greater  part  of  the  inhabit- 
ants are  huddled  together  in  dirt}-, 
ruinous  huts?  My  eyes  wandered 
inquisitively  from  one  ^ate  to  an- 
other;   but   returned    dissatisfied, 
with  none  but  gloomy  impressions. 
The  solitary  skulkers  whom  I  met 
seemed  to  read  in   my  open  coun- 
tenance, that  m}'  sublunary  condi- 
tion was  happier  than  theirs,  and 
with   sullen   looks    got  out  of  my 
way  when  I  noticed  them.     In    a 
coffee-house  which   I   entered,    I 
found  ten  citizens,  each  taking  his 
breakfast  alone,  without  uttering  a 
single  word,  and  attended  by  wait- 
ers as  dull  as  themselves.     I  saun- 
tered several   times   up  and  down 
the  spacious    market-place.     The 
expression  of  a  coarse  selfishness 
in  the  faces  of  persons  of  the  high- 
er class  whom  I  met,  revolted  my 
heart;  the  timid  commentary  upon 
it  in  the  looks  of  the  lower,  exci- 
ted a  painful  compassion  ;  and  the 
unfeeling  stupidity  depicted  in  the 
countenances  of  overgrown  monks, 
completely  spoiled  the  pleasure  of 
my  walk.     My  judgment  was  spee- 
dily  formed,  and   a  circumstance 
that  afterwards  occurred  was  not 
calculated    to    make    me   alter   it. 
Whilst   strolling   in   this  manner, 
my    pocket-book   fortunately    re- 
minded   me,    that    here    was    the 
church  for    which     Frederic     the 
Great  wrote  a  line,  the  only  one 
he  ever  penned  for  such  an  edifice 
— because  it  contained  the  ashes 
of    his    friend,   D'Argens,    "    the 
friend  of  truth,  and  the  enemy  of 


error. 


Who  would   not  stop    to 
contemplate  the  garland  placed  by 
such  hands  upon  the  urn  of  con- 
temporary genius  ?  But  what  a  dis- 
appointment !  Instead  of  the  words 
of  the  royal  author,  I  found  a  long, 
confused,  canting  epitaph,  which 
proved,  that  within  the  domain  of 
this  abbey  no  foe  to  error  and  de- 
ceit could  ever  expect  to  enjoy  re- 
pose.    I  asked  the   Minorite  who 
conducted  me  through  the  church 
of  his  convent,   and   removed  the 
carpet    which    covered  the  monu- 
ment of  the  good  D'Argens,   why 
the  simple  inscription  furnished  by 
the  king  had  been  exchanged  for 
such  bombast  as  1  here  saw  before 
me  in  golden  letters.    "  Because," 
replied  he,  with  stupid  frankness, 
"  we  could   not  use  them    in   the 
sense  in  which  they  were  applied 
by  the  king.     We  had  no  hesita- 
tion to  avail  ourselves  of  the  libe- 
rality of  the  royal  heretic  for  the 
embellishment  of  our  church,  but 
hisheathenish  inscription  was  right- 
ly   served   in    being  excluded   by 
command     of    our     superiors." — 
"  Such  a  liberty,"  said  I,  "  would 
not  have  been  taken  by  any  con- 
vent in  Silesia." — "  Nor  by  us  ei- 
|  ther,"  he  rejoined,  laughing  heart- 
ily, "  had  we  been  no  further  from 
the  tyrant  than  they  :  but  the  dis- 
tance, sir,  consider  the  distance!" 
1  had   indeed  no  occasion  for  this 
memento,  as  I  felt  at  this  moment 
but  too  strongly  how  far  I  was  from 
the  residence  of  the  royal  philo- 
sopher.    I  ought  to  have  content- 
ed myself  with  the  French  inscrip- 
tion ;  for  the  hud  el  puissant  seig- 
neur, with  the  addition  of  cliamLel- 
lan,  only  curled  up  my  lip  into  a 
smile;  the  Latin,  on  the  contrary, 
excited     my    spleen.     "    Instants 


210 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS   IN   THE   SOUTH    OF   MIANCE, 


mortc"  I  repeated  aloud,  turning 
to  the  monk;  "  but,  my  friend,  is 
it  so  certain  as  your  Latin  asserts, 
that  the  marquis  was  converted  on 
his  death-bed  to  the  faith  of  his 
forefathers  ?"-- "  Oh !  byno  means," 
replied  the  Minorite ;  "  this  is  only 
the  colouring  that  we  have  given 
to  the  matter.  You  will  hear, 
when  you  reach  Toulon,  how  he 
lived:  Errorisinimicusyveritatis  ama- 
tor.  He  desired  to  be  interred 
here  in  the  burial-place  of  his  fa- 
mily, as  we  have  noticed  in  the 
epitaph:  but  we  took  good  care  to 
prevent  this;  for  why  should  we 
care  about  the  ashes  of  a  renegade, 
who  wrote  Jeuish  Letters,  and  was 
a  friend  and  companion  of  Frede- 
ric the  Great,  as  we  have  called  him 
in  the  inscription,  meaning  the 
greatest  freethinker  of  the  age?" 
Stupid  wretch  !  thought  I,  and 
strove  to  express  that  sentiment  in 
my  looks  as  I  quitted  the  church. 
"  You  have  not  unpacked,  I 
hope  r"  cried  I  to  my  people,  who 
were  waiting  my  return  at  the  door 
of  the  inn. — "  Not  yet,"  was  the 
reply. — "  Then  order  the  horses 
to  be  put  toimmediately."  I  step- 
ped meanwhile  into  the  dining- 
room,  where  I  found  the  cloth  al- 
ready laid,  and  several  ecclesiastics 
walking  to  and  fro  in  hungry  ex- 
pectation. Mine  host  was  thun- 
derstruck when  he  was  apprized 
of  my  strange  order,  handed  me 
the  bill  of  fare,  and  numbered  upon 
his  fingers  all  the  different  sorts  of 
wine  at  my  service ;  but  perceiv- 
ing that  even  this  inducement 
would  not  operate,  he  inquired 
whether  I  had  yet  seen  the  invin- 
cible crucifix  at  the  Carmelites, 
the  macaroni  -  manufactory,  an'd 
the  collection  of  relics  belonging 


to  the  nuns  of  the  Visitation  of  the 
Virgin  Mary.  "  No  traveller," 
said  he,  "  would  miss  seeing  them 

who  possesses  a  single  grain " 

— "  Possibly,"  said  I,  hastily  in- 
terrupting him,  "the  other  garter  of 
St.  Genevieve  may  be  in  this  col- 
lection ?" — "  It  may,"  replied  the 
landlord,  "  for  it  is  the  most  com- 
plete of  any  in  the  whole  Christian 
world." — "  But  why  did  you  in- 
quire precisely  about  the  other 
garter?"  asked  a  young  abbe. 
— "Because,"  answered  I,  "one  of 
them  was  sold  by  auction  last  week 
at  Avignon." — "  And  who  was  the 
fortunate  purchaser?" — How  diffi- 
cult it  is,  even  in  the  company  of 
strangers,  however  contemptible 
we  may  think  ihem,  to  avoid  giving 
ourselves  airs  of  importance ! — "  I, 
sir,"  replied  I,  with  the  most  con- 
sequential indifference.  This  an- 
swer brought  them  all  upon  meat 
once.  One  wished  to  know  what  I 
paid  for  the  garter;  another  of 
what  sort  of  stuff  it  was  made;  and 
a  third  requested  to  be  favoured 
with  a  sight  of  it.  I  expressed 
mv  extreme  sorrow  that  it  was  no 
longer  in  my  hands;  observing 
that  as  this  valuable  article  belong- 
ed to  the  toilet  of  a  lady,  I  had 
deemed  it  right  to  transfer  it  to 
one  who,  if  the  gentlemen  should 
ever  visit  Avignon,  would  no  doubt 
take  great  pleasure  in  gratifying 
their  curiosity.  "  And  pray,  what 
is  her  address?"  cried  two  at  once 
with  equal  eagerness. — No  sooner 
had  I  replied,  "  It  is  a  young 
saint,  named  Clara,"  than  they  alt 
hurst  out  a  laughing  in  my  face. 
"  I  perceive,  gentlemen,"  said  I, 
"  that  you  are  as  well  acquainted 
with  this  incomparable  creature 
as  I  am,  and  therefore  I  need  not 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS    IN   THE   SOUTH   OI    PKANCE, 


211 


add  another  word."  They  now  sat 
down  to  table  with  great  hilarity, 
and  as  some  compensation  for  din- 
ner, which  it  was  very  probable  that 
I  should  be  obliged  to  pay  for, 
though  untasted,  I  put  into  my 
pocket  the  bread  laid  beside  the 
plate  that  was  placed  lor  me  :  "  You 
do  very  right,"  said  the  host,  "  for 
at  Marseilles  it  is  contraband." — 
"  How  so?"  asked  I.—"  Because," 
replied  he,  "  this  production  of 
our  country,  as  you  will  yourself 
find,  is  so  superior  in  quality,  that 
the  rich  Marseillois  would  buy  it 
all  up,  if  the  exportation  of  it  were 
allowed.  Nevertheless,"  continu- 
ed he,  whispering  me,  "  at  my 
cousin's,  who  keeps  the  sign  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  you  may  get  as  much 
of  it  as  you  please,  if  you  have  no 
objection  to  eat  it  under  another 
name." — "  If  it  be  not  consecra- 
ted," said  I, laughing,  thanked  him 
for  the  hint  which  he  had  given 
me,  proceeded  in  a  much  better 
humour  through  the  streets,  and, 
as  I  hope  for  the  last  time,  past  the 
convent  of  the  stupid  Minorites. 
With  the  rapidity  of  a  mountain 
torrent,  we  now  pursued  our  course 
towards  the  busy  Marseilles. 

That  great  commercial  city,  and 
the  broad  mirror  of  ocean,  at  length 
appeared  before  me,  and  I  flew 
through  a  country,  than  which  the 
most  luxuriant  imagination  cannot 
picture  to  itself  a  more  enchanting. 
What  a  pity  that  it  is  not  under 
the  sceptre  of  the  great  freethinker, 
as  he  was  styled  by  the  bigot  dwarfs 
of  Aix  !  To  what  account  would 
Frederic  turn  this  fire  of  Nature, 
this  productive  climate,  these  corn- 
fields and  olive -plantations,  and 
the  energies  of  this  tawney  lively 
race,  who,  hurried  away  from  their 
VqL  X.  No,  LVlll. 


occupations,  first  by  this,  then  by 
that  confounded  saint,  are  harassed 
to  death  from  procession  to  pro- 
cession, and  from  one  fool's  festival 
to  another! 

The  bread  which  I  brought  from 
Aix,  though  I  wasted  not  a  single 
crumb,  could  not  relieve  me  from 
all  apprehension  that  I  should  not 
reach  Marseilles  in  time  for  dinner 
at  the  Holy  Ghost.  My  fears, 
however,  proved  groundless.  In 
a  sea-port,  where  every  wind  that 
blows  brings  troops  of  hungry 
strangers  to  the  public  purveyors, 
people  of  all  nations  find  at  every 
hour  of  the  day,  and  at  every  inn, 
the  arrangements  of  a  fairy  eco- 
nomy. Numberless  ministering 
spirits  welcome  the  new-comer; 
smoking  dishes  are  ever  ready  for 
his  accommodation  ;  and  none  quits 
the  dining-room  without  thanking 
Providence  in  his  peculiar  gibber- 
ish for  the  sensual  gratification  of 
a  hearty  meal,  and  the  prolonga- 
tion of  his  chequered  life  for  an- 
other day.  How  I  congratulated 
myself  that  I  had  not  suffered  ei- 
ther hunger  or  the  society  at  Aix 
to  detain  me,  and  to  deprive  me 
of  the  physical  and  mental  treat 
promised  me  here  at  a  table  spread 
on  the  margin  of  the  ocean,  by  the 
variety  of  manners,  costumes,  phy- 
siognomies, and  languages,  which 
the  first  of  human  wants  had  har- 
moniously assembled  around  me. 

So  agreeable  was  the  spectacle 
of  this  motley  company,  that  I 
could  not  quit  the  table,  even  when 
I  had  played  my  part  at  it.  I  still 
kept  my  seat,  and  thus  unwittingly 
procured  myself  a  pleasure  which 
I  had  not  enjoyed  since  I  left  home, 
and  which,  at  this  moment,  I  could 
least  have  expected.  Just  at  the 
F  r 


212 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  SOUTH  OV   FRANCE. 


moment  when  I  was  secretly  chuck- 
ling at  the  blind  national  pride  and 
inveterate  prejudice  of  a  Spaniard, 
who  was  attempting  to  prove  to  us 
that  the  almonds  at  Cadiz  were 
much  fuller  and  finer  flavoured 
than  in  these  parts,  two  handsome 
young  females,  accompanied  by  an 
elderly  man,  entered  the  room, 
threw  off  their  mantles,  and  took 
their  seats  near  me,  before  the  fresh 
plates  laid  for  them  by  the  host. 
The  nearer  they  approached,  the 
more  delicate  appeared  their  com- 
plexions, the  brighter  their  eyes, 
the  more  good-natured  their  looks; 
but  no  sooner  did  they  open  their 
lips,  than  they  transported  me  be- 
yond measure,  for  they  spoke  my 
mother  tongue.  Now  I  have  al- 
ways conceived  that  common  re- 
spect for  the  sex  requires  us  not 
to  suffer  a  couple  of  young  females 
to  chat  on  together,  in  case  we  un- 
derstand their  language,  without 
giving  them  timely  intimation  of 
the  circumstance.  This  I  accord- 
ingly did  on  the  present  occasion. 
Before  me  stood  a  dish  of  green 
peas,  which  I  offered  to  her  who 
was  next  to  me,  with  the  remark, 
that  to  Germans  such  a  dish  was 
something  extraordinary  for  the 
season.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  replied 
she;  "  in  four  months  time  we 
should  hardly  see  such  a  thing  in 
Berlin." — You  may  judge  of  my 
surprise.  "  What,  ladies,"  cried 
I  hastily,  "  are  you  from  Berlin?" 
— "  That  we  are,"  replied  she 
laughing:  "  why  should  that  sur- 
prise you  ?" — "  How  can  I  help 
being  surprised,"  answered  I,  "that 
I  should  meet  with  such  charming 
countrywomen  a  thousand  miles 
from  home?" — Here,  turning  jo- 
cosely to  her  companion,  "  bis- 


ter," said  she,  "  this  gentleman 
wants  to  make  me  believe  that  he 
comes  from  Berlin  :  tell  uncle — 
he  understands  examining  better 
than!  do." 

I  inclined  a  little  forward  to  look 
the  gentleman  in  the  face,  and  the 
allusion  of  his  fair  niece  was  in- 
stantly but  too  clearly  explained; 
for  this  physiognomy  could  not  be- 
long to  an}r  other  than  a  custom- 
house officer,  and  it  afterwards 
turned  out  that  my  judgment  was 
correct.  For  the  present,  however, 
I  was  more  anxious  to  prove  my- 
self a  compatriot  to  his  lovely 
niece  than  to  him;  but  my  efforts 
were  fruitless.  I  mentioned  all  my 
Berlin  friends,  but  unfortunately 
she  knew  none  of  them,  nor  was 
she  acquainted  with  one  out  of  all 
the  hi^h-soundiiv.j;  names  that  I 
called  over  to  her.  Even  you,  my 
dear  Edward,  they  had  never  heard 
of,  handsome  as  they  were.  Though 
disheartened,  I  was  unwilling  to 
give  up  all  for  lost.  "  Name  to 
me,"  said  I,  "  some  of  the  per- 
sons whom  you  know;  it  must  be 
extraordinary  if  we  do  not  agree 
at  last."  Even  this  would  not  do. 
Upon  the  subject  of  the  sarcastic 
questions  which  she  put  to  me,  I 
was  most  provokingly  ignorant, 
and  could  neither  tell  where  the 
moon -doctor  lived,  nor  whom  the 
old  fortune-teller  in  St.  John's 
market  had  married;  and  I  saw 
clearly  that  I  should  be  set  down 
by  her  for  an  impostor,  till  I  could 
hit  upon  some  better  means  of 
proving  my  title.  I  therefore  sig- 
nified my  readiness  to  accompany 
them  after  dinner  to  their  apart- 
ment, and  to  submit  to  the  most 
rigid  examination  of  their  uncle. 
My  pretty  neighbour  assured  me 


SENTIMENTAL,  THAVI'.LN  IN  THE  SOUTH  OF  TRANCE. 


213 


that  it  would  give  lier  pleasure.; 
and  meanwhile  setting  aside  her 

suspicion,  she  chatted  ahout  all 
sorts  of  indifferent  matters;  which, 
however,  seemed  by  no  means  un- 
interesting to  me,  so  long  as  she 
turned  towards  me  her  fair,  open, 
German  face,  at  which  I  gazed  with 
genuine  patriotism.  V\  hen  her  un- 
cle had  finished  his  dinner,  we  all 
rose  at  a  signal  from  him  :  I  offered 
my  arm  to  his  two  nieces,  while 
he  followed,  and  the}'  had  no  ob- 
jection to  my  ordering  refresh- 
ments to  he  brought  to  their  room. 
My  examination  by  the  uncle 
was  very  short.  I  convinced  him 
in  a  few  words  of  the  truth  of  my 
claim;  which  the  ladies  also  now 
cheerfully  admitted,  and  was  re- 
cognised with  mutual  joy  as  their 
countryman;  for  the  greater  the 
distance  from  home  at  which  we 
meet  with  a  compatriot,  the  more 
we  feel  attached  to  him.  It  seems 
as  though  the  idea  of  a  common 
country  acquired  its  full  strength 
from  absence.  External  circum- 
stances, by  which  at  home  it  is  but 
too  easily  weakened,  lose  their 
pressure  by  reason  of  the  distance. 
The  distinctions  of  high  and  low 
seem  to  disappear  of  themselves, 
where  the  gradations  are  wanting 
to  fiil  up  the  intermediate  space, 
and  natives  of  the  same  country 
cordially  embrace  from  patriotic 
feelings,  without  stopping  to  ask 
each  other,  "  To  what  caste  do 
you  belong?"  How  happy  was  I  to 
find  myself  once  more  in  the  com- 
pany of  persons  who  had  been  ac- 
customed from  their  youth,  if  not 
to  the  same  society,  at  least  to  the 
$ound  of  the  same  bells  and  of 
the  same  drums,  who  were  as  well 
acquainted  with  the  park  as  myself, 


and  who  thought  as  meanly  as  I 
did  of  all  the  cities  through  which 
they  had  passed,  in  comparison 
with  Berlin.  We  interchanged  in 
die  most  familiar  manner  our  po- 
litical observations  and  our  per- 
sonal history.  I  verily  believe 
that  in  the  overflowing  of  my  heart, 
I  should  not  have  hesitated  to  read 
my  private  journal  to  them,  had 
time  permitted ;  and  they  were 
equally  unreserved  towards  me. 
The  fair  prospects  opened  to  their 
view  beyond  the  sea,  rendered  them 
more  particularly  communicative. 
The  account  which  they  gave  \v;.s 
as  follows : 

A  sister  of  the  officer  of  customs, 
and  aunt  to  his  two  nieces,  who, 
as  one  of  them  observed,  was  ex- 
tremely beautiful  in  her  youth, 
married  during  the  Seven  Years' 
war  a  person  employed  in  the 
French  commissariat.  This  man, 
after  almost  incredible  adventures 
by  sea  and  land,  settled  with  her 
in  St.  Domingo,  where  he  amassed 
a  very  large  fortune,  which,  at 
his  death,  he  left  to  his  widow. 
The  good  woman  had  lately  be- 
come very  infirm,  and  as  she  could 
not  take  her  money  along  with  her 
out  of  the  world,  she  looked  be- 
times after  her  poor  relations,  and 
invited  them  to  come  over  to  her, 
promising,  at  the  same  time,  to 
bequeath  to  them  all  she  possessed. 
The  uncle,  on  receiving  this  im- 
portant letter,  solicited  and  ob- 
tained his  dismission  from  the  Prus- 
sian service,  and  is  now  proceed- 
ing, abundantly  supplied  with  mo- 
ney on  his  sister's  account  by  dif- 
ferent bankers,  with  the  two  re- 
maining scions  of  the  family,  to 
the  enjoyment  of  a  fortune,  w  hich, 
as  he  solemnly  declared,  he  n$y$r 
F   r    2 


214 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  SOUTH  OF  FRANCE. 


in  his  whole  life  expected  to  pos- 
sess. The  good  man,  however, 
fully  intends  to  return  to  his  native 
city,  if  he  is  not  obliged  to  wait 
too  long  for  his  promised  wealth; 
for  he  considers  it  as  a  high  grati- 
fication to  be  able  to  shew  his  con- 
sequence to  those  who  have  known 
him  from  his  youth  in  a  humble 
situation. 

I  suppressed  the  smile  which 
this  distant  hope  of  the  honest 
man,  and  the  air  of  sincerit}-  and 
importance  with  which  he  commu- 
nicated it,  were  but  too  well  cal- 
culated to  excite.  The  idea  is 
perfectly  natural,  Edward:  to  all 
of  us,  let  us  be  what  we  will,  the 
most  signal  favours  of  fortune  seem 
to  be  scarcely  worth  accepting,  if 
we  were  to  enjoy  them  at  a  dis- 
tance from  home,  and  were  denied 
the  privilege  of  dazzling  our  old 
acquaintance  and  schoolfellows 
with  our  newly  acquired  conse- 
quence. I  listened,  as  you  may 
conclude  from  these  details,  for  the 
first  time  with  patient  attention  to 
a  custom-house  officer;  though  I 
did  not  feel  bound  to  fix  my  eyes 
all  the  time  he  was  speaking  upon 
his  ordinary  features,  while  I  could 
feast  them  upon  two  other  Ger- 
man faces  of  a  superior  cast.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  before  I 
got  rid  of  the  garrulous  fellow  en- 
tirely. 

The  captain,  with  whom  the 
widow  had  engaged  a  passage  for 
her  relatives  to  St.  Domingo,  sent 
to  inform  them,  that,  having  finish- 
ed his  business,  he  expected  them 
on  board  with  their  baggage,  as 
he  intended   to  sail  the  following: 

o 

night.  The  men  who  brought  this 
message  were  directed  to  take 
bark  their  trunks.     The  travellers 


would  gladly  have  passed  the  night 
on  shore  after  the  fatigues  of  their 
long  journey,  but  as  circumstances 
would  not  permit  this,  they  yield- 
ed heroically  to  necessity;  and  the 
uncle,  after  he  had  hastily  drunk 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  couple  of 
glasses  of  champagne,  which  the 
waiter  had  just  placed  by  my  order 
on  the  table,  hurried  after  his 
trunks,  promising  his  nieces  to 
fetch  them  when  the  vessel  was 
ready  to  sail,  and  leaving  to  us  the 
rest  of  the  collation. 

The  apartment  seemed  to  me 
much  more  spacious  and  better 
furnished  when  he  was  gone;  but 
I  was  not  a  little  staggered  by  the 
excessive  confidence  of  an  uncle 
that  could  leave  me  alor.e  in  the 
dusk  over  such  refreshments,  with 
such  girls,  who,  exhilarated  by  the 
sparkling  wine,  danced  alternate- 
ly round  the  table,  to  pay,  as  they 
said,  the  last  honours  to  terra firma, 
till  it  grew  too  dark  for  this  kind 
of  exercise.  Be  not,  however, 
too  much  alarmed  on  my  account, 
Edward  ;  for  though  the  danger 
increased  when  the  younger  sis- 
ter, of  fifteen,  after  thoroughly 
tiring  herself,  left  the  field  entire- 
ly to  the  other,  who  was  a  year 
older,  and  withdrew  to  the  ad- 
joining cabinet,  desiring  that  she 
mi^ht  not  be  waked  till  it  was  ab- 
solutety  necessary;  and  though 
I  readily  confess  to  you,  that  a  few 
moments  before,  when  the  heated 
fair-ones  threw  off  their  necker- 
chiefs, and  rendered  themselves 
only  the  more  attractive  in  my 
[I  eyes,  the  sophistical  question  oc- 
|!  curred  to  me,  whether  in  the  me- 
lancholy indeed,  but  }-et  possible 
case  of  these  rose-buds  being 
swallowed  up  by  the  billows,  the 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS   IN   THE   SOUTH   or   FRANC fi 


815 


most  rigid  moralist  would  not  ra- 
ther wish  me  joy  of  a  few  leaves 
cropped  by  stealth,  than  a  shark? 
and  though  it  could  not  be  darker 
when  my  yet  lively  companion  took 
a  seat  beside  me  upon  the  sofa, 
and  jocosely  requested  me  to  drive 
the  sea-sickness,  a  new  acquaint- 
ance which  she  particularly  dread- 
ed, out  of  her  thoughts,  still  the 
experience  of  the  preceding  week 
defended  me  from  every  casuisti- 
cal conclusion.  On  the  contrary, 
I  took  occasion  from  our  speedy 
separation  to  give  my  lovely  neigh- 
bour some  salutary  advice. 

"  Your  society,  my  dear  coun- 
trywomen," I  began  in  as  pathe- 
tic a  tone  as  I  could  assume,  "  has 
made  this  a  truly  happy  day  for 
me,  and  heartily  shall  I  rejoice  to 
hear  of  your  future  welfare.  You 
will  soon  be  flying  on  the  wings  of 
the  wind  to  a  country  of  luxury 
and  pleasure.  Adorned  with  so 
many  charms  as  Nature  has  be- 
stowed on  you  both,  you  will  there 
excite  more  attention  than  even  in 
Berlin  itself;  and  there,  where  in- 
nocence united  with  beauty  is  in- 
finitely more  rare  than  wealth,  an 
advantageous  match,  for  which 
you  might  have  long  waited  in  vain 
in  our  impoverished  city,  will  un- 
doubtedly be  soon  your  lot.  This, 
my  dear  girls,  must  henceforth  be 
your  only  aim.  When  you  have 
attained  it,  and,  with  the  proud 
consciousness  of  untainted  virtue, 
are  reaping  the  joys  of  love,  which 
you  are  destined  to  give  as  well  as 
to  receive,  then  call  to  mind  the 
truth  and  disinterestedness  of  my 
admonition.  Recollect  in  what  a 
dangerous  hour  for  you  and  for  my- 
self it  was  impressed  upon  your 
hearts — in  the  hour  of  our  sepa- 


ration—  under  the  invitation  of 
night,  and  when  an  exhilarating 
beverage  hail  produced  that  kind 
of  fermentation  in  your  blood, 
which  is  but  too  apt  to  throw  us  off 
the  vigilant  guard  we  ought  to  keep 
upon  our  conduct." 

I  fared,  in  this  instance,  no  bet- 
ter than  many  other  preachers. 
One  half  of  the  auditory  to  whom 
I  addressed  my  discourse  was 
asleep,  and  as  to  the  possible  edi- 
fication of  the  other,  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  that  to  chance.  I  would 
not,  however,  have  relinquished  for 
a  great  deal  the  advantage  of  not 
being  aware,  that  my  harangue  was 
directed  to  one  person  more  than 
was  capable  of  hearing  me.  This 
trifling  circumstance  took  away  all 
danger  from  the  darkness  which 
enveloped  us,  for  I  know  not  whe- 
ther I  should  have  expressed  my- 
self so  clearly  and  with  so  little  he- 
sitation on  the  value  of  virtue,  had 
I  reflected  on  the  convenience  of 
my  pulpit,  and  the  situation  of  the 
dear  girl  seated  alone  by  my  side, 
so  far  from  her  sister,  who  more- 
over, as  you  have  heard,  had  desi- 
red not  to  be  called  till  it  was  "  ab- 
solutely necessary :"  but  since  this 
delusion  of  the  senses,  as  I  soon 
perceived,  could  not  last  long,  I 
contented  myself  with  this  short 
essay. 

"  Hern  !"  said  I  at  the  conclu- 
sion ;  "I  suppose,  unless  we  call 
for  lights,  that  we  shall  be  left  all 
night  without  them."  I  reached 
to  the  bell-rope.  It  was  tight,  and 
in  order  to  pull  it,  I  felt  for  the  tas- 
sel— but — guess  where  it  had  bu- 
ried itself!  How  I  started  and  drew 
back  my  hand  !  I  begged  a  thou- 
sand pardons  of  the  fair  damsel, 
but — would    vou  believe   it? — she 


216 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    THE    SOUTH    OE   EKANCE. 


heard  me  not.  The  weary  girl,  in 
spite  of  my  sermon,  was  as  sound 
asleep  as  her  sister  in  the  next 
room,  and  caused  me  no  little  em- 
barrassment. As  she  sat  just  un- 
der the  bell-rope,  it  was  easy  to 
conceive  how  the  silken  tassel, 
pushed  forward  by  her  head, might, 
upon  the  slightest  movement,  slip 
into  the  situation  in  which  I  found 
it :  but  how  was  I  to  release  it  from 
its  prison—especially  withoutlight: 
As  I  had  no  other  resource,  I  was 
obliged  to  extricate  myself  from 
this  dilemma  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
groped  about  with  the  utmost  cau- 
tion, and  at  length  found  the  tas- 
sel, which  was  as  warm  in  its  snug 
retreat  as  the  hand  with  which  I 
grasped  it.  On  ringing  the  bell, 
the  waiter  entered  with  candles. 
I  began  to  scold.  "  Oh !"  said  he, 
by  way  of  excuse,  "  they  have 
been  burning  a  long  time,  but  we 
never  presume  to  bring  candles  till 
gentlemen  call  for  them." 

All  this  noise  was  not  sufficient  j 
to  waken  the  sleeping  fair-one.  It 
was  in  truth  a  severe  criticism  up- 
on  my  sermon.  At  length,  taking  ; 
a  candle  in  each  hand,  I  stepped 
softly  up  to  her,  but  she  never 
stirred:  I  had  therefore  an  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  her  the  more 
attentively.  It  was  astonishing 
how  closely  the  soundness  of  her 
slumber  had  pressed  her  auburn 
eyelashes  together  ;  a  smile  play- 
ed about  her  lips  ;  the  carmine  of 
health  painted  her  cheeks;  and 
short  respirations  heaved  a  bosom, 
which  left  no  room  to  wonder  how 
the  tassel  of  the  bell-rope  could 
be  so  firmly  detained.  I  indulg- 
ed with  the  less  scruple  in  the  plea- 
sure of  contemplating  this  lovely 


object,  since  I  had  honestly  paid 
for  it  with  the  coffee,  the  wine, 
and  my  sermon,  which  had  alto- 
gether overpowered  my  charming 
neighbour.  Strictly  speaking,  the 
latter — I  mean  my  sermon — though 
not  a  living  soul  had  heard  it  ex- 
cept myself,  was  by  no  means 
thrown  away;  for  without  taking 
into  account  the  pleasure  we  re- 
ceive from  hearing  ourselves  talk, 
it  was  now  but  too  evident  how  be- 
neficially it  had  re-acted  upon  me. 
I  was  satisfied  with  my  conduct; 
I  had  held  a  lecture,  if  not  to  others, 
at  least  to  myself,  and  I  insist  that 
the  magnanimous  feeling  which  my 
warm  hand  brought  back  with  the 
silken  tassel,  has  something  more 
meritorious  than  the  sixpence 
which  a  miser  throws  into  the  col- 
lection-plate, and  fancies  that  he 
has  performed  an  act  of  extraor- 
dinary generosity. 

I  placed  the  two  candles,  after 
the  grateful  service  which  they 
had  rendered  me,  upon  the  table 
again,  and  myself  with  the  utmost 
composure  at  the  window.  When 
I  beheld  the  moon  floating  in  the 
midst  of  dark  clouds  above  the 
ocean,  and  contrasted  the  present 
security  of  the  dear  girls  under  my 
care,  with  the  unknown  dangers 
which  they  were  about  to  encoun- 
ter, I  must  own,  Edward,  that  I 
felt  an  oppression  upon  my  heart, 
and  I  could  not  help  shuddering, 
whenever  any  noise  in  the  house 
led  me  to  suppose  that  they  were 
going  to  be  wakened,  and  called 
away  to  their  destination.  They 
were,  however,  allowed  to  pass 
another  hour  in  undisturbed  re- 
pose. 

(To  be  continued.) 


217 


ORIGIN  OF  SOME  OF  MR.  SOUTHEY'S  BALLADS. 

For  the  Depository. 


Among  Mr.  Southey's  earlier 
productions,  published  in  two  vo- 
lumes 8vo.  about  the  year  1800, 
your  readers  will  recollect  a  num- 
ber of  romantic  ballads.  To  some 
he  furnishes  the  authority  from 
which  he  took  them,  but  others  ap- 
pear as  mere  fictions  of  his  own. 
The  following  is  obviously  the  sto- 
ry on  which  he  founded  his  "  Old 
Woman  of  Berkeley,"  for  he  has 
followed  it  with  verbal  accuracy  in 
some  places.  It  needs  no  other 
preface  than  that  I  should  state, 
that  it  is  extracted  from  Thomas 
Hey  wood's  "  History  of  Women," 
published  as  early  as  1624. 

"  An  Englishwoman,  who  dwelt 
in  the  town  of  Berkeley  in  Eng- 
land, being  a  witch,  yet  not  being- 
much  suspected,  lived  in  indiffer- 
ent good  opinion  amongst  her 
neighbours,  and  being  feasting 
upon  a  timeabroad,  and  wonderful- 
ly pleasant  in  company,  she  had  a 
tame  crow,  which  she  had  brought 
up,  that  would  be  familiar  with  her, 
and  sit  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
prate  to  her  in  the  best  language 
it  could.  She  at  this  feast  (the  ta- 
ble being  ready  to  be  drawn)  sport- 
ed with  it,  which  spoke  to  her  more 
plainly  than  it  used  some  words, 
which  she  understood  better  than 
the  rest  of  the  company,  at  which 
her  knife  suddenly  dropped  out  of 
her  hand,  her  colour  changed,  the 
blood  forsook  her  cheeks,  and  she 
looked  pale,  ready  to  sink  down, 
and  fetching  some  inward  sighs 
and  groans,  she  at  length  broke 
'forth  into  this  lan<rua^e  :  '  Woe  is 
me  !  my  plough  is  now  entered  in- 


to the  last  furrow,  for  this  day  I 
shall  hear  of  some  great  loss  which 
I  must  forcibly  suffer.  The  rest 
wondering  at  her  sudden  change 
from  mirth  to  passion,  next  at  her 
alteration  of  look,  and  lastly  at  her 
mystical  language  ;  when  her  words 
were  scarcely  ended,  than  a  mes- 
senger rushed  hastily  into  the  room, 
and  told  her  that  her  eldest  son, 
with  the  whole  family  at  home, 
were  found  suddenly  dead  ;  which 
she  no  sooner  heard,  than  overcome 
with  sorrow,  she  fainted,  and  being 
recovered,  and  conducted  to  her 
own  house,  she  took  to  her  bed, 
and  presently  caused  the  only  two 
children  she  had  living  to  be  sent 
for;  the  one  a  monk,  the  other  a 
nun,  who  presently  came  to  visit 
her  and  know  her  pleasure,  to 
whom,  with  a  pensive  and  distract- 
ed heart,  the  tears  running  from 
her  eyes,  she  thus  spoke: 

"  '  Alas !  my  children,  behold  me 
your  mother,  and  commiserate  my 
wretched  and  distressed  situation, 
whose  fate  hath  been  so  malevolent 
and  disastrous,  that  I  have  hitherto 
been  a  wicked  professor  of  diaboli- 
cal witchcraft,  having  been  a  mis- 
tress of  that  art,  and  a  great  per- 
suader to  those  abominations:  now 
all  the  refuge  I  have  to  fty  to  is 
your  religious  zeal  and  piety  in 
this  despair,  for  now  is  the  time 
that  the  devils  will  exact  their  due. 
Those  who  persuaded  me  to  this 
mischief  are  ready  to  demand  their 
covenant.  Therefore,  by  a  mo- 
ther's love  I  charge  you,  and  by 
your  filial  duty  I  conjure  you, 
since  the   sentence  of   my  soul's 


218 


ORIGIN    OF   SOME    OF    MR.    SOUTHEY'S    BALLADS. 


perdition  is  irrevocable,  that  you 
will  use  your  best  endeavours  and 
industry  for  the  preservation  of 
my  body.  This  therefore  I  enjoin 
you:  instead  of  a  winding-sheet, 
sew  my  bod}'  in  the  skin  of  a  hart 
or  buck's  leather,  then  put  me  in  a 
coffin  of  stone,  which  cover  with 
lead,  and  afterwards  bind  it  with 
hoops  or  bars  of  iron,  to  which 
fasten  three  strong  chains:  if  my 
body  thus  coffined  lie  three  days 
quiet,  bury  me  the  fourth  day; 
though  I  fear  the  earth,  for  my 
manifold  blasphemies,  will  scarce- 
ly give  entertainment  to  my  body. 
For  the  first  two  nights  together 
let  there  be  fifty  psalms  sung  for 
me,  and  as  many  masses  for  so  ma- 
ny days.'  \\  hich  said,  she  gave  up 
her  last  breath. 

"  She  dead,  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter were  careful  to  perform  the 
mother's  last  will,  and  did  all 
things  accordingly.  The  first  two 
nights,  when  the  churchmen  san<» 
psalms  about  the  body,  the  devils 
with  much  ease  broke  open  the 
church-doors,  which  were  bolted, 
barred,  and  locked ;  and  broke 
two  of  the  chains  by  which  the  cof- 
fin was  fastened,  but  the  third  re- 
mained sted  fast.  The  third  night, 
about  the  time  that  the  cock  begins 
to  crow,  the  foundation  of  the  tem- 
ple seemed  to  shake  with  the  noise 
of  the  devils  who  clamoured  at  the 
door  :  one  of  the  rest,  taller  in  sta- 
ture, and  more  terrible  in  coun- 
tenance than  his  fellows,  knocked 
with  more  violence  than  those  who 
attended  him,  till  he  had  broken 
the  door  to  shivers;  then  stalking 
to  the  coffin,  he  called  the  woman 
by  her  name  aloud,  and  bade  her 
arise  and  follow  him  :  to  whom  the 
dead  body  answered, '  Icannot,  for 
these  chains.'  To  whom  he  answer- 


ed, 'Those  shall  be  loosened  to  thy 
mischief.'  Then  tearing  them  asun- 
der, as  if  they  had  been  links  made 
of  rushes,  he  snatched  up  the  coffin 
and  carried  it  to  the  church-door, 
where  stood  read}'  a  black  sump- 
ter-horse, loudly  neighing,  whose 
hoofs  were  divided  like  eagle's 
talons,  upon  which  he  laid  the 
body,  hurried  it  away  with  seem- 
ing joy,  whilst  all  the  choristers 
looked  on,  and  so  vanished.  Her 
shrieks  and  ejaculationswere  heard 
four  miles  off." 

From  another  production  by  the 
same  old  author,  "  The  Hierarchie 
of  blessed  Angels,"  printed  in  1635, 
I  quote  the  following,  which  will 
immediately  call  to  mind  another 
of  Mr.  Souihey's  ballads: 

"  In  Finland  (which  is  under  the 
dominion  of  the  King  of  Sweden,) 
there  is  a  castle,  which  is  called 
the  New  Rock,  moated  about  with 
a  river  of  an  unfounded  depth; 
the  water  black,  and  the  fish  there- 
in very  distasteful  to  the  palate. 
In  this  are  spectres  often  seen, 
which  foreshew  either  the  death 
of  the  governor,  or  some  prime 
officer  belonging  to  the  place,  and 
most  commonly  it  appears  in  the 
shape  of  a  harper,  sweetly  sing- 
ing, and  dallying  and  playing  un- 
der the  water." 

You  will  observe,  Mr.  Editor, 
that  in  the  quotations  I  have  made, 
!  I  do  not,  in  any  respect,  mean  to 
!  charge  the  present  poet-laureate 
with  plagiarism  ;  because,  if  one 
praise  be  more  than  another  due  to 
him,  it  is,  that  he  has  always  freely 
cited  his  authorities,  for  his  fame 
will  not  depend  hereafter  upon 
any  thing  he  has  borrowed  from 
earlier  writers.     I  am,  &c. 

D W a. 


219 


MY   OWN  CHOICE  AND  MY  MOTHER'S: 
A  Talk,  related  in  a  Letter  to  a  Friend. 


Will  you,  my  dear  Harriet,  for- 
give an  old  and  tried  friend,  who 
has  herself  suffered  from  the  in- 
dulgence of  a  romantic  preposses- 
sion, if  she  venture  to  lay  before 
you  the  history  of  a  love-match? 
I  would  fain  call  your  attention  to  j 
it  at  this  moment,  because  I  see 
unhappily  too  much  resemblance 
between  the  object  of  your  choice 
and  the  husband  of  my  own;  and 
that  resemblance  induces  me  to 
participate  in  the  fears  which  your 
worthy  aunt  entertains,  that  your 
union  with  him  will  not  conduce 
to  your  happiness.  But  as  she 
tells  me,  that  argument  has  already 
been  exhausted  in  vain  to  con- 
vince you  of  this,  I  will  merely 
give  you  the  fruits  of  my  own  bet- 
ter experience,  without  comment. 
Happy  shall  I  think  myself,  if  the 
perusal  of  it  induces  you  to  com- 
ply with  the  wishes  of  your  friends, 
by  reflecting  seriously,  ere  you 
form  an  indissoluble  union  with 
one  who,  amiable  and  even  fasci- 
nating as  he  appears,  is  certainly 
not  gifted  with  those  qualities 
which  can  alone  secure  a  wife's  fe- 
licity. 

The  death  of  my  father  placed 
me,whilelvvas  still  very  young,  un- 
der the  sole  guardianship  of  mv 
mother,  one  of  the  best  women  in 
the  world,  whose  only  fault  was  the 
too  great  indulgence  with  which 
she  treated  me;  and  perhaps  my 
dear  Harriet  will  think  this  an 
excusable  weakness,  when  I  tell 
her  that  I  was  my  mother's  sole  re- 
maining tie  to  this  world.  Death 
had,  in  the  short  space  of  five 
years,    deprived    her   of  her  own 

f'ul.X.  No.LVlIL 


parents,  of  an  adoring  husband, 
and  of  two  lovely  children.  Can 
it  then  be  wondered  at,  if  the  only 
one  that  remained  became  in  her 
eyes  an  inestimable  treasure,  of 
which  she  feared  to  lose  sight  even 
for  a  moment,  lest  some  fatal  ac- 
cident should  deprive  her  of  it  al- 
so ?  My  temper,  naturally  good, 
was  not  spoiled  by  the  excessive 
indulgence  with  which  I  was  treat- 
ed, and  my  days  passed  in  unin- 
terrupted happiness  till  I  attained 
my  seventeenth  year.  At  that  pe- 
riod I  was  addressed  by  two  gen- 
tlemen, either  of  whom  was  what 
the  world  would  call  an  unexcep- 
tionable match.  Mr.  Dorrillon  was 
about  five  and  twenty;  he  united 
to  every  personal  recommendation 
the  most  fascinating  manners,  and 
a  degree  of  vivacity  and  frankness 
which  rendered  him  in  my  eyes  ir- 
resistible. His  rival,  Mr.  Probit, 
was  nearly  thirty  ;  las  person  had 
nothing  remarkable;  his  counte- 
nance was  intelligent  but  plain, 
except  when  he  smiled,  and  then 
you  forgot  that  he  was  not  hand- 
some :  never  did  I  see  a  smile 
which  spoke  so  powerfully  to  the 
heart  as  his.  His  manners  were 
in  general  reserved  and  grave,  but 
when  he  chose  to  unbend  he  could 
be  a  most  delightful  companion. 
His  character,  in  a  moral  point  of 
view,  stood  very  high,  and  I  was 
not  blind  to  his  estimable  quali- 
ties; on  the  contrary,  I  regarded 
him  with  admiration  and  esteem: 
nevertheless,  at  a  very  early  peri- 
od of  my  acquaintance  with  both 
the  gentlemen,  my  heart  decided 
in  favour  of  Dorrillon. 
G   G 


220 


MY    OWN*    CHOICE    AND    MY    MOTHER  S. 


This  decision  gave  my  mother 
the  most  sensible  pain  ;  she  esti- 
mated more  justly  than  I  did,  the 
characters  or'  my  lovers.  She  saw 
that  with  Probit  1113-  happiness,  as 
far  as  depended  upon  him,  would 
be  secure;  but  she  was  by  no  means 
assured  that  such  would  be  the  case 
with  Dorrilion  :  true,  his  character 
was  free  from  any  serious  reproach, 
but  there  was  a  yieldingness  in  his 
temper,  and  an  habitual  indolence 
of  mind,  which  led  him  to  be 
swayed  by  the  opinions  of  others, 
rather  than  by  his  own  sober  judg- 
ment. These  traits  filled  the  mind 
of  my  mother  with  the  most  seri- 
ous apprehensions:  she  expressed 
to  me  her  fears  and  her  wishes;  but 
she  spoke  with  the  tenderness  of  a 
friend,  rather  than  the  authority  of 
a  parent;  and  while  she  point- 
ed out  to  me  all  the  evil  conse- 
quences which  might  result  from 
my  prefer*  nee  of  Dorrilion,  she  as- 
sured me  that,  unhappy  as  she 
should  be  to  see  me  his  wife,  she 
was  yet  determined  not  to  put  a 
constraint  upon  my  inclinations; 
all  she  begged  was,  that  I  would 
not  be  precipitate  in  my  determi- 
nati 

I  loved  her  too  well  voluntarily 
to  give  her  pain,  and  when  I  assur- 
ed her,  that  I  would  take  time  to 
reflect  ere  I  decided  my  fate,  I 
sp  >ke  as  I  meant;  but  I  did  not 
calculate  on  the  daily  increasing 
influence  which  Dorrilion  was  ob- 
taining over  my  heart:  his  tender 
entreaties,  his  passionate  declara- 
tions that  he  could  not  exist  with- 
out me,  were  irresistible.  I  had 
never  been  taught  to  curb  my  in- 
clinations, and  after  a  faint  strug- 
gle, I  yielded  to  them,  and  owned, 
with  tears  and  blushes,  to  my  mo- 


ther, that  my  happiness  depended 
on  1113-  union  with  Dorrilion. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  manner 
in  which  my  communication  was 
received.  She  heard  me  in  silence; 
she  strove  even  to  command  her 
countenance,  but  the  convulsive 
motion  of  her  lip,  the  deep  de- 
spair which  instantly  overspread 
her  still  beautiful  features,  spoke, 
alas!  too  plainly  her  sorrow  and 
her  fears.  Oh!  love,  relentless  ty- 
rant, how  dost  thou  force  us  to  im- 
molate upon  thy  altar  the  tender- 
est  sensibilities  of  our  nature!  I 
who,  before  I  felt  thy  power,  was 
the  fondest,  the  most  dutiful  of 
children,  could  now,  in  the  self- 
ish pursuit  of  my  own  happiness, 
accept  the  reluctant  consent  of  my 
mother  to  my  union  with  Dorril- 
ion, though  I  saw  that  it  wrung 
her  heart  to  give  it. 

The  behaviuur  of  Probit,  on  be- 
ing informed  of  my  intended  nup- 
tials,   added    to   her    chagrin,  be- 
cause it  convinced  her  that  I  had 
a  deep  hold  upon  his  heart.     I  was 
too  greatly  engrossed  by  my  ex- 
pected happiness  to  think  much  of 
his   disappointment.      "    He   will 
soon  forget  me,"   said  I  to  my  mo- 
ther; "  he  is  in   truth  too  reason- 
able to  cherish  a  hopeless  passion 
for  any  length  of  time:  but  if  my 
II  poor   Dorrilion    had  been  the  re- 
i  iected   swain,  it  would  have  been 
lon<i  enough  before  lie  could  drive 
:  my   image    from   his   heart."     My 
J  mother  sighed,  but  she  expressed 
her   dissent   only    by  a   look,  and 
I  amid  the  bustle  of  preparing  for 
j;  my  approaching  nuptials,  I  speed- 
J  ily  lost  the  remembrance  of  Pro- 
I  bit. 

At  length  I  became  a  wife;  one 
.'  drawback  only  attended  my  felici- 


MY    OWN    (HOICK    AND    MY    MOTHER'S. 


221 


tv,  and  that  was  my  mother's  re- 
fusal to  reside  with  me.     Dorrillon 

had  joined  with  me  in  requesting 
her  to  become  an  inmate;  hut  she 
discovered  in  his  manner,  that  the 
request  did  not  come  from  his 
heart:  too  careful  of  my  happiness 
to  seem  to  perceive  this,  she  eva- 
ded a  compliance  with  our  wishes, 
on  the  pica  that  we  should  proba- 
bly,  when  in  London,  mix  more 
with  the  world  than  she  wished  to 
do  ;  but  she  promised  to  reside 
near  us,  in  order  that  our  inter- 
course might  be  as  frequent  as  I 
wished. 

Three  months  fled  with  a  rapi- 
dity which  can  only  be  conceived 
by  those  who  have  known  the  bliss 
of  reciprocal  love ;  they  were 
spent  with  my  husband  and  my 
mother  at  a  country-seat  belong- 
ing to  the  latter.  How  often  did 
I,  during  this  short  period,  exult 
in  my  felicity,  and  boast  myself 
the  happiest  of  the  happy!  Alas! 
the  moment  was  about  to  arrive 
But  let  me  not  anticipate. 

I  observed  that  Dorrillon  began 
to  appear  languid  and  out  of  spi- 
rits; his  manner  to  me  was  as  ten- 
der as  ever,  but  it  was  less  impas- 
sioned. My  mother  also  made  her 
observations,  and  the  result  of  them 
was,  that  she  privately  pressed  me 
to  propose  our  removal  to  town. 
"  My  dear  child,"  said  this  best  of 
women,  "  that  sort  of  affection 
which  is  nourished  by  solitude,  and 
the  constant  presence  of  the  be- 
loved object,  dwells  only  in  the 
female  heart;  variety  and  bustle 
are  essential  to  the  happiness  of 
man,  and  more  particularly  so  to 
that  of  Dorrillon  :  recollect  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  always 
lived,  and  you  will  cer.se  to  expect 


such  a  miracle  as  that  love  should 
transform  a  gay  young  man  of  fa- 
shion into  a  contented  recluse.*1 

As  my  mother  affected  to  speak 
in  a  cheerful  tone,  I  tried  to  smile, 
but  1  could  with  difficulty  rep 
my  tears  at  the  thought  that  Dor- 
rillon could  have  a  wish  beyond 
the  circle  of  his  home.  I  forced 
mys  If,  however,  to  follow  ;.,;  mo- 
ther'sadvice:  he  caught  eager!  at 
the  first  hint  of  changing  the  scene, 
and  in  a  few  days  we  set  out  for 
London. 

The  momentar}'  interruption 
which  my  felicity  had  received  was 
forgotten  in  the  happiness  I  now 
for  some  time  enjoyed  :  it  is  true, 
the  society  of  my  husband  was  less 
exclusively  mine,  but  when  we  did 
meet,  he  was  still  the  tender  and 
passionate  lover;  and  I  saw  with 
a  mixture  of  pride  and  pleasure 
the  delight  he  took  in  the  admira- 
tion I  excited.  He  seemed  to  have 
no  pleasure  so  great  as  that  of  pre- 
senting me  with  ever}'  ornament 
that  he  thought  could  add  to  my 
charms;  and  if  I  remonstrated  with 
him  on  the  prodigality  which  he 
shewed  in  thus  adorning  me,  he 
constantly  replied,  that  that  ex- 
pense would  never  hurt  his  fortune, 
and  if  I  valued  his  love,  I  ought 
to  be  pleased  at  appearing  in  a 
manner  which  must  heighten  it. 

Had  I  been  more  under  the  do- 
minion of  reason,  and  less  the 
slave  of  passion,  I  might  have  ask- 
ed myself,  what  could  be  the  na- 
ture of  that  affection  which  orna- 
ment could  heighten ;  but  I  loved 
him  too  fondly  to  see  in  his  words 
any  thing  but  a  new  proof  of  his 
tenderness. 

One  morninsr  he  came  home  in 
high  spirits;  "Isabella,"  said  he, 
G  g  2 


MY   OWN   CHOICE   AND   MY   MOTHER'S. 


"  you  look  just  as  I  could  wish." 
— "  How  so  ?"  cried  I.— «  How  so !" 
repeated  he;  "  why  as  beautiful  as 
au  angel,  to  be  sure.  Remember 
your  engagement  to  Mrs.  Cler- 
mont to-night;  and  remember  too, 
dear  Isabella,  that  your  dress  must 
be  more  than  usually  elegant:  the 
lovely  young  widow,  Mrs.  Fermor, 
is  to  be  there,  and  I  want  you  to 
outshine  her." 

"  If  I  surpass  her  in  your  eyes 
only,"  said  I  tenderly,  "  I  shall 
be  content."—"  But  I  shall  not," 
replied  he  hastily,  "  unless  the 
palm  of  beauty  is  universally 
adjudged  to  you:  if  then  yo  do 
not  value  it  for  your  own  sake,  at 
least  I  must  beg  you  will  take  care 
and  gain  it  for  mine." 

These  words,  and  still  more  the 
tone  in  which  they  were  uttered, 
gave  me  a  sickness  of  the  heart, 
for  which  I  could  not  account:  I 
tried  to  banish  from  my  mind  the 
idea  that  a  real  or  fancied  superi- 
ority on  the  part  of  any  other  wo- 
man would  lessen  Dorrillon's  af- 
fection for  me ;  but,  in  spite  of  my- 
self, the  thought  took  possession 
of  my  imagination,  and  you  may 
be  sure  it  did  not  tend  to  improve 
my  look. 

When  I  descended  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, Dorrillon  sunned  me 
■with  a  mixture  cf  regret  and  dis- 
appointment, which  cut  me  to  the 
heart.  "  Your  dress  is  not  well 
fancied,  Isabella,"  cried  he,  in  a 
peevish  tone.  I  replied,  I  was 
sorry  it  did  not  please  him,  and 
asked  if  I  should  change  it.  "  No," 
replied  he  sullenly,  "  there  is  not 
time  now."  I  forced  myself  to 
converse  after  we  got  into  the  car- 
riage, and  it  seemed  as  if  he  was 
ashamed   of  his    causeless    ill-hu- 


mour, for  he  replied  with  some  de- 
gree of  his  usual  spirit. 

At  the  moment  I  alighted,  I  felt 
a  universal  tremor,  and  never  be- 
fore I  believe  did  I  enter  a  room 
with  so  bad  a  grace.  Mrs.  Fermor 
was  already  there;  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  gentlemen, 
all  anxious  to  do  homage  to  her 
charms  :  never  had  1  beheld  a  be- 
ing so  dazzlingly  beautiful  as  she 
appeared;  Dorrillon  surveyed  her 
and  me  alternately,  with  looks  in 
which  disappointment  and  vexa- 
tion werevisibly  blended.  He  was, 
however,  soon  drawn  into  her  cir- 
cle :  at  first  his  manner  was  con- 
strained and  merely  coldly  civil  ; 
soon  afterwards  it  became  more 
gallant  and  animated,  and  before 
the  evening  was  at  an  end,  he  was 
evidently  in  the  highest  degree 
delighted  with  her. 

I  saw  this  without  surprise  :  not 
to  do  homage  to  her  charms,  ap- 
peared to  me  impossible;  and  I 
strove  to  persuade  myself  that  this 
homage  was  no  more  than  the  mere 
passing  tribute  of  admiration, 
which  so  lovely  a  woman  must 
claim  from  every  gallant  man.  This 
idea  was  strengthened  by  the  frank 
and  open  manner  in  which  Dor- 
rillon spoke  of  her  after  we  return- 
ed home.  "  She  is  a  witch,"  said 
he,  "  positively  a  witch.  I  had  de- 
termined to  detest  her,  because  for 
the  moment  she  outshone  my  be- 
loved Isabella;  and  how  do  you 
think  she  contrived  to  conquer  my 
prejudice  against  her?" — "  Whjr, 
by  her  grace  and  vivacity,  I  sup- 
pose," returned  I. — "  No  indeed," 
cried  Dorrillon,  "  but  by  a  very 
animated  panegyric'  upon  you." — 
"  Upon  me!"  exclaimed  I  with 
surprise. — "  Yes,  really:  I  will  not 


MY    OWN    CHOICH   AND    MY    MOTHERS. 


223 


tell  you  all  she  said,  for  fear  I  should 
make  you  vain,  but  I  will  own  the 
generous  warmth  with  which  she 
praised  you  soon  reconciled  me 
to  her."  Ah  !  my  dear  Harriet,  you 
will  easily  conceive  the  pleasure  I 
which  these  words  gave  me;  never 
had  Dorrlllon  appeared  so  amiable 
as  he  did  at  that  moment  in  my 
eyes. 

A  short  time  only  passed  before 
I  began  to  observe  that  Dorrillon 
was  less  solicitous  than  usual  about 
my  appearance  ;  he  was  also  more 
frequent  in  his  absence  from  home, 
and  we  met  but  seldom  in  public  ; 
still  when  we  did  meet  his  manner 
was  affectionate,  but  there  was 
something  restless  and  perturbed 
in  his  demeanour,  the  cause  of 
which  I  could  not  understand. 
Alas  !  it  was  but  too  soon  account- 
ed for:  an  unsigned  billet  which 
he  dropped,  convinced  me  that  he 
was  engaged  in  an  intrigue,  though 
it  crave  me  no  clue  to  guess  with 
whom.  I  determined  to  keep  this 
dreadful  secret  to  myself;  not  for 
worlds  would  I  wound  the  peace  of 
my  beloved  mother  by  revealing 
it  to  her;  but  the  effort  was  more 
than  my  frame  could  bear.  I  was 
attacked  by  a  fever,  which  proved 
contagious  ;  and  my  mother,  whom 
no  persuasion  could  draw  from  my 
bed-side,  fell  a  victim  to  the  same 
disorder,  just  £t  the  moment  that  I 
was  recovering  from  it. 

The  news  of  her  death,  incau- 
tiously communicated  to  me,  pro- 
duced a  temporal  alienation  of 
reason.  Heaven  in  its  mercy  soon 
restored  my  senses,  but  with  them 
came  the  consciousness  that  I  had 
caused  m}7  mother's  death;  and  it 
was  long,  long  indeed,  ere  the  mi- 
sery which  this  dreadful  thought 


occasioned  could  be  banished  from 
my  mind. 

When  I  first  became  convales- 
cent, Dorrillon's  joy  was  unbound- 
ed, and  for  some  time  he  was  on- 
remitting  in  his  attentions;  but 
though  they  soothed  my  sorrow  they 
could  not  banish  it,  and  he  soon 
grew  weary  of  playing  the  comfort- 
er, and  returned  to  his  usual  avo- 
cations. This  only  was  wanting 
to  complete  my  despair,  and  I  be- 
lieve I  should  have  sunk  under  my 
sufferings,  had  I  not  discovered 
that  I  was  about  to  become  a  mo- 
ther. 

This  circumstance  once  more 
rendered  existence  of  importance 
in  my  eyes;  I  blamed  myself  for  the 
coldness  and  apathy  with  which  I 
had  received  my  husband's  return- 
ing kindness,  and  I  strove,  by  an 
appearance  of  cheerfulness,  and 
the  most  assiduous  tenderness,  to 
draw  him  back  to  home.  Alas  !  I 
strove  in  vain;  the  sorceress  who 
lured  him  from  me  had  wound  her 
spells  too  surely  round  him  for  me 
to  break.  Fearful  that  in  those 
moments  of  reflection  which  will  in- 
trude upon  even  the  most  thought- 
less, his  heart  might  be  softened 
towards  a  wife  who  had  never  of- 
fended him,  she  contrived  to  draw 
him  to  the  gaming-table:  by  this 
infamous  expedient  she  effectually 
closed  his  heart  against  me;  but 
she  also  in  a  great  degree  defeated 
her  own  plans,  for  his  new  pursuit 
soon  became  a  passion  which  seem- 
ed to  swallow  up  every  other.  His 
temper,  though  naturally  good,  was 
not  proof  to  the  frequent  losses  he 
met  with  ;  he  became  in  the  high- 
est degree  irritable,  and  scarcely  a 
day  passed  in  which  he  did  not 
abandon  himself  to  the  most  dread- 


VIEW   OF   THE    BRIDGE   OF   JlAVENO,   &C. 


ful  fits  of  passion  :  at  these  times 
he  would  treat  me  with  passionate 
tenderness;  at  others,  not  merely 
with  indifference  but  with  cruelty. 
From  the  execrations  which  he  one 
day  bestowed  while  he  was  in  one 
of  these  humours  on  Mrs.  Fermor, 
he  gave  me  every  reason  to  believe 
that  she  was  my  rival.  I  strove  to 
sustain  this  shock  with  firmness, 
but  it  brought  on  a  premature  la- 
bour, which  made  me  the  mother  of 
a  girl. 

The  sight  of  my  infant,  while  it 
gave  my  heart  a  joy  I  supposed 
myself  incapable  of  feeling,  ren- 


dered my  regret  for  my  dear  lost 
parent  still  more  poignant.  Dor- 
rillon  did  not  even  affect  to  feel 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  his  child: 
when  it  was  presented  to  him,  he 
coldly  inquired  whether  it  was  a 
boy  or  a  girl;  and  on  being  told  the 
latter,  he  turned  away  without 
speaking  or  saluting  it.  I  snatch- 
ed it  from  the  nurse,  and  while  I 
pressed  it  to  my  bosom,  I  secretly 
vowed  to  be  to  it  what  my  mother 
had  been  to  me,  and  my  full  heart 
relieved  itself  by  a  burst  of  tears. 
(To  be  continued.) 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR 

PLATE  20. —  VIEW    OF    THE    BR 
MAD  RE 

At  the  distance  of  half  a  league 
from  Feriolo  is  the  little  village  of 
Baveno,  in  a  very  rural  situation 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  in  the 
midst  of  meadows,  where  the  ches- 
nuts  raise  their  majestic  heads 
above  the  houses  surrounded  by 
vines,  which  they  conceal  by  their 
thick  foliage.  At  a  short  distance 
from  Baveno,  the  road  crosses  the 
torrent  of  Trefiume,  over  which  a 
bridge  has  been  constructed,  whose 
light  and  elegant  arches  are. com- 
posed of  white  granite  veined  with 
red. 

To  enjoy  the  beaut)'  of  this  spot, 
it  is  necessary  to  ascend  the  road 
to  the  height  from  which  this  view 
has  been  taken.  The  mountains 
which  bound  the  horizon  present 
forms  sufficiently  varied,  and  in  the 
centre  of  the  chain  appear  those 
of  Laveno,  which  advance  with  a 
rapid  descent  towards  the  lake. 
Farther  off,  to  the  right,  the  moun- 


OF  MOUNT  S1MPLON. 

IDGE    OF    BAVENO    AND    OF    THE 
ISLANDS. 

tain  of  la  Madonna  del  Monte*, 
from  which  an  extensive  prospect 
is  enjoyed,  is  lost  in  the  mist.  On 
the  opposite  side  glitters  the  town 
of  Palanza,  with  its  towering  bel- 
fry. In  the  midst  of  this  magni- 
ficent landscape,  the  Isola  Madre 
rises  from  the  bosom  of  the  waters, 
like  a  nosegay  of  the  richest  and 
freshest  verdure:  the  yew, the  pine, 
the  cypress,  and  the  laurel,  cover 
its  surface  with  their  evergreen 
branches  ;  and  when  the  mountains 
are  blanched  with  snow,  when  the 
hills  present  only  their  leafless 
groves,  the  Isola  Madre  still  pre- 
serves its  verdant  attire,  and  gives 
the  idea  of  a  perpetual  spring. 

*  Travellers  who  visit  Lake  Majir 
generally  make  an  excursion  to  la  Ma- 
donna <li-jl  Monte  in  passing  bv  Vareze. 
The  view  which  is  obtained  from  this 
point  is  very  remarkable  :  it  extends  over 
Lake  Major,  the  Lakes  of  Lugano  and 
Como,  and  over  the  southern  chain  of 
the  Alps. 


— 

N 


> 


;= 


Q 


%* 


> 


2*5 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 


No.  LVIII. 

Then,  like  the  Sibyl's  leaves, 

O  scatter  them  abroad! Dbyden. 


One  of  my  correspondents,  with 

whose  hand-writing  I  am  well  ac- 
quainted, as  I  am  continually  re- 
ceiving her  good  advice,  for  I  am 
persuaded  it  is  one  of  my  own  sex 
who  favours  me  with  these  marks 
of  her  regard,  recommends  me  oc- 
casionally to  give  some  of  my  max- 
ims in  verse.  Had  she  given  me 
this  hint  at  a  more  early  period,  I 
might  have  endeavoured  to  obey 
it;  but  as  my  proverbial  treasure 
is  now  nearly  exhausted,  I  beg  her 
excuse  for  continuing  what  re- 
mains of  my  prose  journey  as  I 
commenced  it.  F T . 


In  relating  an  event,  confine 
yourself  to  facts  and  simplicity. 
By  sacrificing  vanity  to  veracity, 
you  will,  for  a  moment's  humilia- 
tion, secure  a  lasting  credit. 

Above  all,  when  your  personal 
interest  comes  in  question,  lay- 
aside   pride,   avarice,  or   revenge. 

Be  on  your  guard  against  misre- 
presentation, and  be  certain  before 
you  hazard  repetition. 

Take  care  how  3-011  sacrifice 
those  who  may  have  furnished  you 
with  intelligence,  or  who  may  have 
incautiously  sought  to  amuse  an 
uneasy  hour,  without  foreseeing 
the  injury  that  might  result  from 
the  circulation. 

Be  not  prone  to  imagine,  that 
the  arrows  of  sarcasm,  so  often 
and  so  heedlessly  thrown  out  in 
mixed  companies, are alwayspoint- 
edat  you  :  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  assume  a  decent  courage  in  nu- 


merous societies,  for  too  nice  a 
sensibility  deprives  the  owner  of 
any  degree  of  defence  against  in- 
sult and  arrogance. 

Do  not  embitter  the  cheerful- 
ness of  conversation  by  gloomy 
reflections.  Whether  from  mo- 
mentary or  lasting  causes  you 
labour  under  uneasiness  of  mind, 
society  must  not  share  it. 

It  is  wrong  to  diminish  inno- 
cent satisfaction  by  refinement  and 
gloom:  seek  and  nourish  content, 
when  it  approaches,  nor  suffer  ves- 
terday  or  to-morrow  to  poison  the 
present  moment.  Were  we  to  dive 
too  deeply  into  the  sources  and 
motives  of  the  most  laudable  ac- 
tions, we  may,  by  tarnishing  their 
lustre,  deprive  ourselves  of  a  plea- 
sure. 

If  you  should  happen  to  receive 
more  civility  than  your  modesty 
will  permit  you  to  allow  you  are 
entitled  to,  let  no  sordid  suspicion 
cause  you  to  attribute  it  to  low  de- 
sign, unless  marked  indeed. 

Adulation  is  easily  to  be  distin- 
guished from  universal  complai- 
sance and  good-humour. 

Be  weli  assured  of  the  strength 

of  your   mind,    and    calmness   of 

your  temper,  before  you  consult 

;  any  one  in  matters  of  consequence 

to  yourself. 

In  telling  the  truth,  and  expos- 
ing of  facts,  you  may  excite,  and 
even  merit  contradiction  :  examine 
previously  how  far  you  are  pre- 
pared to  bear  it. 

Seek     the    company    of    those 


220 


THK   FKMALS   TATTLER. 


whose  lights,  from  every  known 
advantage,  are  superior  to  your 
own. 

Supposing  that  satire  should  be 
gilded  with  all  the  splendour  of 
wit  and  learning  that  will  attract 
present  applause,  be  well  aware, 
that  j'ou  may  indeed  be  first  the 
idol,  but  finally  the  victim  of  the 
satirist. 

Where  taciturnity  and  cold  re- 
serve are  absolutely  necessary, it  is 
at  the  moment  when  raillery,  how- 
ever genteel,  and  criticism  equally 
brilliant,  shall  be  the  favourite  to- 
pic of  conversation. 

The  only  real  benefit  to  be  de- 
rived from  poignant  censure  is, 
the  application  to  the  errors  our 
conscience  shall  accuse  us  of,  ne- 
ver to  the  condemnation  of  others. 

The  characteristics  of  real  vir- 
tue are,  humility,  compassion,  and 
benevolence;  the  assumed  are, 
pride,  hardness  to  the  world's, 
blindness  to  ourown  imperfections. 

We  are  somewhat  prone  to  make 
rash  reflections  on  misfortunes  or 
misconduct.  Avoid  this  injustice; 
ignorance  is  oft  the  cause,  retalia- 
tion the  effect. 

If  ambitiously  disposed,  turn  that 
passion  towards  the  improvement 
of  your  mind;  every  other  motion 
will  end  in  disappointment. 

Seek  to  gain  early  in  life  such 
perfections  as  are  adapted  to  your 
present  situation,  or  your  pro- 
spects in  future. 

There  are  acquirements  which, 
at  the  first  view,  will  not  appear  to 
be  so  necessary,  as  in  a  series  of 
time  they  may  prove  ;  treasure  them 
up  for  the  day  of  retreat,  or  the 
hour  of  sorrow. 

If  neither  a  numerous  family, 
nor  a  limited  fortune,  demands  the 


!  entire  and  continued  use  of  your 

I  faculties  towards  the  care  of  the 

one,   or   the    preservation    of   the 

other,  employ  the  remains  of  your 

leisure  in  profitable  studies. 

In  every  position,  it  is  proper  to 
pay  due  attention  to  your  family 
concerns;  that  duty  acquitted, con- 
sider all  supernumerary  employ- 
ment as  relaxation. 

Despise  no  occupation  as  vulgar 
or  trifling  that  can  contribute  to 
any  general  benefit. 

There  have  been,  and  there  still 
exist,  many  sensible  persons  who 
lead  the  life  of  romance,  that  can 
stoop  to  no  vulgar  cares;  but  you 
will,  by  pursuing  such  examples, 
hurt  your  fortune,  neglect  your 
children,  and  finally-  risk  to  be 
awakened  from  your  fairy  dream 
by  some  sad,  but  common  event. 

Do  not  mistake  the  omission  of 
any  proper  attention  for  elevation 
of  sentiment. 

If  possessed  of  a  certain  facility 
in  the  acquirement  of  language  or 
science,  avoid  an  impertinent  dis- 
play of  knowledge. 

Nothing  is  more  dangerous  than 
the  misapplication  of  talents;  va- 
nity is  the  source,  and  ridicule  will 
be  the  consequence. 

Though  modestly  convinced  of 
your  great  distance  from  perfec- 
tion, it  is  a  becoming  mark  of  re- 
solution to  persist  in  the  pursuit 
of  it. 

Endeavour  to  restrain  your  ideas 
from  wandering  when  all  your 
application  becomes  requisite. 

Be  not  repulsed  by  the  first  dif- 
ficulties in  learning;  the  rough- 
ness of  the  road  to  any  science  will 
insensibly  decrease  as  you  ap- 
proach the  summit. 

If,  on  strict  scrutiny,  you  shall 


THE   FEMALE   TATTLEll. 


227 


discover  you  have  not  a  real  turn 
to  a  particular  accomplishment, 
which  sometimes  an  undiscerning 
mode  of  education  has  compelled 
yon  to  aspire  after,  lay  such  aside 
on  the  conviction,  and  pursue  those 
to  which  your  own  taste  directs  you. 

Adapt  your  studies  to  your  cir- 
cumstances; there  are  some  at- 
tended with  much  expense,  and 
which  may  cause  your  family  to 
lament  your  knowledge. 

If  your  talents  be  such  as  can 
contribute  to  the  entertainment  of 
your  friends,  weary  them  not  by 
affected  non-compliance  in  exert- 
ing them. 

If  your  genius  directs  you  to 
the  study  of  music,  treat  it  as  a 
repose  from  business,  not  as  that 
of  your  life. 

If  you  shall  perceive  that  music 
exalts  your  sentiments,  increases 
your  devotion,  and  harmonizes 
your  mind,  you  may  be  assured  of 
your  vocation. 

Avoid  the  raptures  and  the  pre- 
judices sometimes  the  attendant 
follies  on  an  unbounded  love  of 
music. 

If  you  can  listen  with  complai- 
sance to,  and  join  sincerely  in,  the 
praise  of  those  of  your  acquaint- 
ance who  shall  excel  in  the  per- 
formance of  music,  you  are,  in  all 
probability,  not  far  remote  from 
perfection  yourself. 

When  "you  shall  have  once  con- 
quered the  difficulties  attendant 
on  execution,  let  no  accidental 
interruption  render  them  useless. 

Let  not  ill-timed  timidity  get 
the  better  of  your  hand  or  voice, 
as  is  frequently  the  case;  nor  too 
■much  assurance,  oh  the  other  hand, 
urge  you  to  force  the  attention  of 
superior  proficients  to  yourself. 
f'ol.  X.  No.  LVIII. 


If  you  have  in  early  youth  ac- 
quired a  fine  hand,  preserve  it  with 
care.  Or  much  business,  or  much 
indolence,  is  equally  destructive 
to  a  fine  hand.  An  elegant  hand 
expressing  elegant  sentiments  is 
like  a  favourable  light  to  a  good 
picture. 

In  pursuing  the  dictates  of  your 
heart  towards  the  persons  who  are 
the  nearest,  and  ought  to  be  the 
dearest  to  ycu,  your  letters  will 
of  course  be  persuasive,  unless 
you  are  unhappily  connected  with 
hearts  of  steel. 

Let  your  letters  on  business  be 
plain,  concise,  and  civil:  they 
should  ever  be  written  twice  over. 

In  letters  of  mere  ceremony,  it 
will  be  well  to  run  them  over,  and 
when  either  error  or  obscurity  shall 
be  observed,  to  correct,  nay  change 
their  style  once  more,  though  usu- 
ally a  trial  to  female  patience. 

Preserve  a  copy  of  every  letter 
you  write  or  receive;  this  exac- 
titude will  secure  vou  against  fu- 
ture  accusations  and  misinterpre- 
tation. 

In  addressing  parents,  or  others 
of  your  relations,  mingle  your  ex- 
pressions of  duty  and  regard  with 
as  much  ease  as  they  will  admit  of. 

In  most  extremes  of  passion, 
when  they  would  speak,  and  re- 
flection is  mute,  we  are  disposed 
to  unite  exactly  when  and  what  we 
should  not. 

In  answering  a  letter  of  insult 
or  provocation,  be  sure  of  possess- 
ing yourself  before  you  reply;  for 
a  rash  expression  may  rise  in  judg- 
ment one  day  against  you,  and 
when  you  may  have  even  forgot- 
ten the  quarrel  and  the  cause. 

It  is  so  great  a  present  satisfac- 
tion  to  write  a  smart  thing,  that 
H  ii 


228 


TI1K    RHINE. 


you  may  perhaps  be  unconscious 
if  it  should  he  inhuman. 

Adopt  no  style  but  your  own  in 
writing:  no  imitations  will  surpass 
in  energy  real  feelings. 

Rigorously  weigh  in  the  scale 
of  truth  whatever  assertions  you 
shall  commit  to  paper. 

Your  word  once  passed  to  keep 
a  letter  sacred,  let  no  temptations 
prompt  you  to  reveal  its  contents. 

In  writing  to  the   afflicted,   be 


extremely  delicate   and  tender  in 

the  choice  of  your  language. 

Of  all  difficult  tasks  none  can  be 

more  so,  than  that  of  the  attempt 

to  console  on  a  recent  misfortune: 

in  such    an  emergency,   let  your 

pen  be  solely  conducted  by  your 

feelings.    An  abundance  of  reason- 
ed 

ing,     on    some  subjects,   employs 
more  eloquence  than  sentiment. 


Sir, 


I  have  received,,  no  doubt 
in  common  with  many  of  your 
readers,  much  gratification  from 
the  elegant  and  interesting  "  Pic- 
turesque Tourof  the  Rhine,"  late- 
ly published  by  the  Proprietor  of 
the  Repository.  For  this  reason,  I 
was  the  more  struck  with  a  charac- 
teristic description  of  that  river, 
which  I  have  since  accidentally 
met  with  in  a  small  German  work, 
to  which  the  ingenious  author,  Dr. 
Krummacher,  gives  the  unosten- 
tatious title  of  Parables.  Subjoined 
is  a  translation  of  it,  which  you 
may  perhaps  deem  worthy  of  a 
corner  in  one  of  your  numbers. 
lam,  &c.    .  A  Gleaner. 

London,  Aug.  1,  1820. 


THE  RHINE. 
To  the  EDITOR  of  the  REPOSITORY. 

standest  firm,  but  I  will  give  thee 
a  son,  who  shall  extend  thy  power, 
and  the  blessings  which  thou  de- 
rivest  from  heaven,  to  distant  re- 
gions." 

She  spoke,  and  the  Rhine  gush- 
ed from  the  bosom  of  the  moun- 
tain.   


The  Rhine. 

In  the  beginning  of  time,  when 
Nature  had  founded  the  mountains, 
and  scooped  out  the  basin  of  the 
ocean,  she  went  forth  from  her 
habitation  of  clouds  to  the  Gott- 
hard,  and  said,  "  It  is  fit  that  what 
is  good  should  be  united  with  what 
is  great,  and  that  the  strong  should 
have  a  wide  sphere  of  action.  Thou 


Joyous  and  free,  full  of  energy 
and  vigour,  the  }roung  stream  pur- 
sued his  course  down  the  moun- 
tain's side.  He  playfully  plunged 
into  the  Lake  of  Constance,  but 
the  lake  held  him  not.  Its  waves 
parted  asunder;  the  Rhine  issued 
from  among  them  with  undiminish- 
ed vigour,  and  pursued  his  way; 
for  he  was  a  child  of  Nature,  and 
born  upon  the  mountain. 


He  became  a  youth,  and  chose 
his  own  career.  Nature  never  errs 
in  her  judgment:  she  chooses  what 
is  great  and  good.  He  wrought 
himself  a  channel  through  rocks 
and  mountains,  which  occupied 
and  moderated  the  impetuosity  of 
his  youthful  vigour.  Vine-covered 
hills  therefore  garlanded  his  path. 

Magnificent  was  his  course.  A 
hundred   rivers    and    numberless 


OliOUGK    II.   AND    COLONF.L    VON    LOSfiCKK. 


229 


inferior  streams  mingled  their 
lovely  waters  with  his  powerful 
waves:  for  that  which  is  godlike 
attracts  what  is  nohle,  and  that 
which  is  high  strives  to  unite  it- 
self with  the  highest. 


Manly  and  more  tranquil  was 
now  his  course.  He  flowed  on  with 
a  calmer  but  not  a  weaker  current. 
The  icy  hand  of  winter  would  have 
bound  him  with  everlasting  fetters; 
but  he  burst  them  as  a  man  would 
break  feeble  threads.  In  his  youth 
he  had  exercised  his  strength,  and 
cloven  the  solid  rocks. 

His  surface  now  resembled  a  po- 
lished mirror;  it  no  longer  reflect- 


ed the  jovial  grape,  the  fruit  of 
the  hills,  but  waving  corn-fields; 
on  his  back  he  bore  all  kinds  of 
vessels  and  rafts.  Thus  doth  ma- 
turer  reason  associate  the  useful 
with  the  agreeable. 


He  now  approaches  the  term  of 
his  career.  Nature  here  divided 
him  into  several  streams,  bearing 
different  denominations;  but  men 
give  him  the  name  of  Rhine  only 
when  they  speak  of  his  grandeur, 
and  the  benefits  which  he  dis- 
penses. 

Thus  power,  even  in  a  state  of 
repose,  still  retains  its  dignity. 


GEORGE  II.  AND  COLONEL  VON  LOSECKE. 


In  the  new  publication  of  George 
the  Third,  his  Court  and  Family, 
vol.  I.  sec.  i.  p.  42,  43,  the  name 
of  a  colonel  is  mentioned  as  having 
been  slain  by  the  side  of  his  high- 
ness (afterwards  George  II.)  who 
served  as  a  volunteer  with  the  army 
commauded  by  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough at  the  battle  of  Oudenarde 
in  1708:  the  colonel's  name  is  not 
Luschky,  but  von  Lbsecke. 

His  highness,  who  became  af- 
terwards George  II.  rode  then  a 
white  charger,  which  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  enemy,  who  di- 
rected their  fire  at  the  prince: 
Colonel  von  Losecke,  then  ac- 
companying his  highness,  perceiv- 
ing him  to  be  in  the  most  immi- 
nent danger,  prevailed  on  him  to 
change  his  horse  for  that  on  which 
he  rode,  and  having  mounted  the 
prince's  horse,  was  instantly  killed 
by  a  ball  from  the  enemy. 

He  was  buried  next  day  at  Ou- 


denarde, where  many  officers  dur- 
ing the  late  wars  have  seen  a 
painting  of  this  transaction;  and 
at  the  town-hall,  the  arms  of  this 
colonel's  family  (an  armed  arm  with 
a  sword  in  its  hand)  are  still  to 
be  seen,  cut  in  stone.  In  consi- 
deration of  so  much  attachment 
shewn  to  his  person  by  the  colonel, 
viz.  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  his 
own  life  to  save  that  of  his  royal 
master,  and  the  loss  which  his 
children  and  descendants  were 
doomed  to  experience  from  the 
premature  fall  of  their  parent,  who 
was  in  his  advance  to  the  highest 
military  honours  of  his  country, 
Kins:  George  II.  was  pleased  to 
confer  on  the  family  of  the  de- 
ceased a  pension,  and  certain  other 
privileges  at  the  court  of  Hanover, 
which  pension  has  been  long  since 
discontinued. 

This  ancient  family  exists  still 
in  the  kingdom  of  Hanover;  it  is 
H    H   2 


230 


POEMS   OF   LADY    MARY   WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 


reckoned  amongst  the  most  lcyyal 
of  his  Majesty's  German  subjects, 
and  is  certainly  most  sincerely  at- 


j  tached  to  the  royal  family :  several 
i  members  of  it  served  in  the  late 
'  kind's  German  Legion. 


POEMS  OF  LADY  MARY 

Mr.  Editor, 

Some  time  since  vou  insert- 
ed  some  original  Letters  of  Lad}- 
M.  W.  Montagu,  that  had  fallen 
into  my  hands.  Since  I  sent  you 
those  Letters,  a  copy  of  certain 
Poems,  Epistles,  &c.  by  the  same 
lady,  and  published  surreptitiously 
in  1768,  six  years  after  her  death, 
has  also  fallen  into  my  hands :  the 
title  it  bears  is,  "  The  Poetical 
Works  of  the  Pught   Honourable 

Lady  M y  W y  M u  ;" 

and  I  have  every  reason  to  think  it 
a  curiosity,  as  it  contains  many 
pieces  never  acknowledged  by  her, 
and  some  which  no  doubt  proceed- 
ed from  her  liberal  pen,  and  which 
she  was  not  sufficiently  backward 
either  in  writing  or  acknowledging. 
Of  course,  of  the  latter  I  shall  say- 
nothing  more,  and  glad  I  am  that 
they  have  fallen  into  merited  ob- 
scurity. There  are  others,  how- 
ever, that  have  very  different  re- 
commendations, and  that  may  be 
read  with  very  great  satisfaction 
by  all  classes,  though  they  have 
never  been  included  in  any  edition 
of  the  works  of  the  author,  not  even 
I  believe  in  that  of  1803,  in  five 
volumes  8vo.  Of  these  I  propose 
now  to  furnish  you  with  a  few  speci- 
mens, and  to  follow  them  up  by  some 
further  extracts  for  an  ensuing 
Number. 

The  particulars  of  the  quarrel  be- 
tween Pope  and  LadyM.W. Monta- 
gu subsequent  to  1718,  when  shere- 
t  u  •■..ed from  Constant! nople  to  Eug- 
',  are  generally  known  ;  for  the 


WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

acute  and  penetrating  female  was 
not  to  be  duped  by  the  denial  by 
Pope,  that  he  meant  "  furious  Sap- 
pho" in  his  imitation  of  B.  II.  Sat.  i. 
of  Horace,  for  her :  his  disavowal 
was  somewhat  cautious,  and  is  con- 
tained in  one  of  his  letters  to  Lord 
Harvey,  who  had  mentioned  the 
subject  to  Pope.  "  In  regard  to 
the  right  honourable  lady  your 
lordship's  friend,"  he  replies,  "  I 
was  far  from  designing  a  person  of 
her  condition  by  a  name  so  dero- 
gatory to  her  as  that  of  Sappho,  a 
name  prostituted  to  every  infamous 
creature  who  ever  wrote  verse  or 
novels.  I  protest  I  never  applied 
that  name  to  her  in  any  verse  of 
mine  public  or  private,  and  (I  firm- 
ly believe)  not  in  any  letter  or  con- 
versation." Now,  he  might  very 
safely  deny  that  he  meant  "  furious 
Sappho"  for  Lady  Mary,  and  ac- 
cordingly he  is  absolute  and  posi- 
tive about  it;  but  where  his  own 
hand-writing  in  letters,  or  any  wit- 
ness of  a  conversation,  could  be 
brought  against  him,  then  he  only 
"  firmly  believes."  This  was  at 
least  Jesuitical,  and  Lady  M.  W. 
Montagu  saw  through  it  plainly  ; 
as  plainly  as  the  public  sawthrough 
Pope's  declaration,  that  he  did  not 
mean  the  description  of  Timon's 
villa  for  Cannons,  the  residence 
of  the  Duke  of  Chandos. 

This  dispute,  or  rather  the  at- 
tack of  Pope,  produced  the  subse- 
quent spirited  and  bitter  reply  by 
Lady  Mary.  At  the  same  time, 
we  cannot  allow  that  the  whole  of 


POKMS    OF    LADY    MARY    WORTLfiY    MONTAGU. 


231 


the  censure  she  bestows  is  deserv- 
ed, or  that  the  criticism  she  makes 
upon  Pope's  talent  for  satire  is  at 
all  just.  However,  your  readers 
shall  judge  for  themselves,  and  1 
will  only  premise  that  I  have  been 
obliged  to  omit  a  few  indecorous 
lines. 

VERSES 

Addressed  to  the  Imitator  ef  the  First  Satire 
of  the  Second  Book  of  IIohace. 

In  two  large  columns  on  thy   motley  page, 
"Where  Roman  wit  is  strip'd  with  English 

rage ; 
Where  ribaldry  to  satire  makes  pretence, 
And  modern  scandal  rolls  with  ancientsense ; 
Whilst  on   one  side   we   see  how   Horace 

thought, 
And  on  the  other  how  he  never  wrote; 
Who  can  believe,  who  view  the  bad  and  good, 
That  the  dull  copi'st  better  understood 
That  spirit  he  pretends  to  imitate, 
Than  heretofore  that  Greek  he  did  translate  ? 

Thine  is  just  such  an  image  of  his  pen, 
As  thou  thyself  art  of  the  sons  of  men ; 
Where  our  own  species  in  burlesque  we  trace, 
A  sign-post  likeness  of  the  human  race, 
That  is  at  once  resemblance  and  disgrace. 
Horace  can  laugh,  is  delicate,  is  clear ; 
You  only  coarsely  rail,  or  darkly  sneer: 
His  style  is  elegant,  his  diction  pure  j 
Whilst  none   thy   crabbed   numbers   can 

endure, 
Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure. 

If  he  has  thorns,  they  all  on  roses  grow ; 
Thine  like  rude  thistles  and  mean  brambles 

shew, 
With  this  exception,  that  tho'  rank  the  soil, 
Weeds  as  they  are,  they  seem  produe'd  by 

toil. 
Satire  should,  like  a  polish'd  razor  keen, 
Wound  with  a  touch  that's  scarcely  felt  or 

seen: 
Thine  is  an  oyster-knife,  that  hacks  and  hews; 
The  rage,  but  not  the  talent  to  abuse. 

Neither  to  folly,  nor  to  vice  confin'd, 
The  object  of  thy  spleen  is  human  kind  : 
It  preys  on  all,  who  yield  or  who  resist; 
To  thee  'tis  provocation  to  exist. 

But  if  thou  seest  a  great  and  generous 

heart, 
Thy  bow  is  do-.-.bly  bent  to  force  a  dart. 
Nor  dignity  nor  innocence  is  spar'd  ; 
Nor  age,  nor  sex,  nor  thrones,  nor  graves 

rever'd. 


i  Not  only  justice  vainly  we  demand, 

But  c  C  nft  r    in  thy  hand: 

To  this  or  that  alike  in  vain  we  trust, 
Nor  find  thee  less  ungrateful  than  unjust. 

Not  even  youth  and  beauty  can  controul 
The  universal  rancour  of  thy  soul; 
Charms  that  might  soften  superstition's  rage, 
Might  humble  pride,  or  thaw  the  ice  of  ago. 
•v  shoutd'stthou  by  beauty's  force  lie 
mov'd, 
No  more  for  loving  made,  than  to  be  lov'd? 
It  was  the  equity  of  righteous  Heav'n, 
Thai  S  I  to  such  a  form  was  giv'n  ; 

And  shews  the  uniformity  of  fate, 
That  one  so  odious  should  be  born  to  hate. 

When  God  created  thee,  one  would  believe, 
He  said  the  same  as  to  the  snake  of  Eve: 
To  human  race  antipathy  declare; 
'Twixt  tUem  and  thee  be  everlasting  war. 
But,  oh !   the  sequel  of  the  sentence  dread  : 
And  whilst  yon  bruise  their  heel,  beware  your 
head. 

Nor  think  thy  weakness  shall   be  thy  de- 
fence, 
The  female  scold's  protection  in  offence; 
Sure  'tis  as  fair  to  beat  who  cannot  fight, 
As  'tis  to  libel  those  who  cannot  write ; 
And  if  thou  draw'st  thy  pen  to  aid  the  law, 
I  Others  a  cudgel,  or  a  rod,  may  draw. 
If  none  with  vengeance  yet  thy  crimes  pursue, 
Or  give  thy  manifold  affronts  their  due; 
If  limbs  unbroken,  skin  without  a  stain, 
Unwhipt,  unblanketed,  unkick'd,  unslaiu, 
That  wretched  little  carcase  you  retain, 
The  reason  is,  not  that  the  world  wants  eyes, 
But  thou'rt   so   mean,    they   see,   and  they 

despise. 
When  fretful  porcupine,  with  rancorous  will, 
From  mounted  back  shoots  forth  a  harmless 

quill, 
Cool  the  spectators  stand,  and  all  the  while 
Upon  the  angry  little  monster  smile: 
Thus  'tis  with  thee; — while  impoteutly  safe, 
You  strike  upwounding,  we  unhurtcan  laugh. 
Who  but  must  Inuijh,  this  bully  when  he  sees, 
A  puny  insect  shiv'ring  at  a  breeze ; 
One  overmatch' d  by  ev'ry  blast  of  wind, 
Insulting  and  provoking  all  mankind? 

Is  this  the  thing  to  keep  mankind  in  awe, 
To  make  those  tremble  who  escape  the  /.»•  ? 
Is  this  the  ridicule  to  live  so  long, 
The  deathless  satire,  and  immortal  $ona  * 

No,  like  thy  self-blown  praise,  thy  scan- 
dal flies; 
And,  as  we're  told  of  wasps,   it  stings  and 
dies. 

If  none  do  yet  return  th'  intended  blow, 
Vou  ail  your  safety  to  your  d illness  Owe: 


POEMS    OF    LADY    MARY    WORTLKY    MONTAGU. 


But   whilst  that  armour  thy  poor   corpse 

defends, 
'Twill   make    thy  readers  few,  as    are    thy 

friends; 
Those  who  thy  nature  loath'd,  yetlov'd  thy 

art  j 
Who  lik'd  thy  head,  and  yet  ahhorr'd  thy 

heart ; 
Chose  thee  to   read,  but  never  to  converse, 
And  scorn'd  in  prose,  him  whom  they  priz'd 

in  verse : 
Even  they  shall  now  their  partial  error  see, 
Shall  shun  thy  writings  like  thy  company  j 
And  to  thy  books  shall  ope  their  eyes  no 

more, 
Than  to  thy  person  they  would  do  their  door. 
Nor  thou  the  justice  of  the  world  disown, 
That  leaves  thee  thus  an  outcast,  and  alone ; 
For  tho'  in  law,  to  murder  be  to  kill, 
In  equity  the  murder's  in  the  will : 
Then  whilst  with  coward  hand  you  stab  a 

name, 
And  try  at  least  t'assassinate  our  fame  ; 
Like  the  first  bold  assassins  be  thy  lot- 
Ne'er  be  thy  guilt  forgiven,  or  forgot; 
But  as  thou  hat'st,  be  hated  by  mankind, 
And  with  the  emblem  of  thy  crooked  mind 
Mark'd  on  thy  back,  like  Cain,  by  God's  own 

hand, 
Wander,    like  him,   accursed  through   the 

land. 

The  following  not  unsuccessful 

attempt  at  imitation,  though  of  a 

different  kind,  on  the  part  of  her 

ladyship,  will  not  be  read  without 

feeling   some    admiration  for  the 

ingenuity  and  talent  of  the  writer. 

The  FIFTH  ODE  of  HORACE  IMITATED. 

For  whom  are  now  your  airs  put  on, 

And  what  new  beauty's  doom'd  to  be  undone  ? 

That  careless  elegance  of  dress, 
This  essence  that  perfumes  the  wind, 

Your  very  motion  does  confess 
Some  secret  conquest  is  design'd. 
Alas!  the  poor  unhappy  maid, 
To  what  a  train  of  ills  betray'd  ! 

What  fear?,    what  pangs    shall   rend    her 
breast  ! 
How  will  her  eyes  dissolve  in  tears, 

That  now  with  glowing  joy  is  bless'd, 
Charm'd  with  the  faithless  vows  she  hears  ! 
So  the  young  sailor,  on  the  summer  sea, 
Gail}'  pursues  his  destin'd  way  ; 

Fearless  and  careless  on  the  deck  he  stands, 
Till  sudden  storms  arise  and  thunders  roll: 

In  vain  he  casts  his  eyes  to  distant  lands, 
Distracting  terror  tears  his  timorous  soul. 
For  me,  secure  I  view  the  raging  main, 
Fr.st  are  my  dangers,  and  forgot  my  pain: 


My  votive  tablet  in  the  temple  shews 
The  monument  of  folly  past; 

I  paid  the  bounteous  god  my  grateful  vows, 
Who  snatch'dfrom  ruin,  sav'd  me  at  the  last. 

We  never  read  with  so  much 
pleasure  as  when  the  author  writes 
what  are  his  real  ^sentiments,  for 
then  every  thing  flows  from  him 
with  unusual  spirit  and  zest.  The 
concluding  extract  I  shall  furnish 
is  a  proof  of  this  ;  for  we  all  know 
that  Lady  Mary  found  matrimony, 
at  some  times  a  convenient  cover, 
and  at  others  an  irksome  bondage. 
It  is  called, 

A  CAVEAT  TO  THE  FAIR  SEX. 
Wife  and  servant  are  the  same, 
But  only  differ  in  the  name  ; 
For  when  that  fatal  knot  is  tied, 
Which  nothing,  nothing  can  divide; 
When  she  the  word  obey  has  said, 
And  man  by  law  supreme  is  made, 
Then  all  that's  kind  is  laid  aside, 
And  nothing  left  but  state  and  pride: 
Fierce  as  an  Eastern  prince  he  grows, 
And  all  his  innate  rigour  shews  ; 
Then  but  to  look,  to  laugh,  to  speak, 
Will  the  nuptial  contract  break. 
Like  mutes,  she  signs  alone  must  make, 
And  never  any  freedom  take  ; 
But  still  be  govern'd  by  a  nod, 
And  fear  her  husband  as  her  Cod  : 
Him  still  must  serve,  him  still  obey, 
And  nothing  act,   and  nothing  say, 
But  what  her  haughty  lord  thinks  fit, 
Who  with  the  power  has  all  the  wit. 
Then  shun,  oh  !  shun  that  wretched  state, 
And  all  the  fawning  flatterers  hate  : 
Value  yourselves,  and  men  despise; 
You  must  be  proud,  if  you'll  be  wise. 

In  all  these  productions  the 
sprightliness  and  shrewdness  of 
Lady  M.  W.  Montagu  are  obvious. 
I  shall  leave  your  readers,  however, 
to  make  their  own  criticisms,  and 
shall  conclude  by  observing  mere- 
ly, that  if  you  insert  the  preceding, 
I  will  furnish  you,  in  time  for  next 
Number,  with  some  quotations 
from  the  same  lady's  "  Town  Ec- 
logues," written  by  her  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Pope  and  Gay.  I  re- 
main, &c.  A.  A. 

Bristol.  Aug.  "27. 


233 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Fantasia,  consisting  of  the  most  fa- 
vourite yJiis  from  Mozart's  cele- 
brated Opera  "  11  Flauto  Magico," 
composed  and  arranged  for  the  Pi- 
ano-forte, with  Flute  Accompani- 
ment (ad  lib.),  by  John  Purkis. 
No.  II.  Price  3s.  (Hodsoll,  High 
Holborn.) 

In  this  second  number,  five  or 
six  further   airs  from   the   Magic 
Flute  are  strung  together  with  ap- 
propriate connection.     The  addi- 
tions from  the  pen  of  Mr.  P.  and 
the  cadences  which  form  the  links 
between   the  pieces,  are  in  good 
style.     The  score  is  rather  thin, 
but  as   this  circumstance  contri- 
butes mainly  to  the  easy  execution 
of  the   fantasia,    the    majority   of 
players  will  not  find  fault  with  it. 
Among  Mr.  P.'sexcellentperform- 
ances  on  the  apollonicon,  this  fan- 
tasia will  probably  be  in  the  recol- 
lection of  some  of  our  readers. 
Selection  of  the  most  admired  Qua- 
drilles, with  their  proper  Figures  in 
French  and  English,  as  danced  at 
Almacfcs,  the  Argyll  Rooms,  and 
at  the  Nobility's  Assemblies,  ar- 
ranged for  the  Piano-forte,  Harp, 
or  Violin.  Set  IV.  Pr.2s.   (Hod- 
soll, High  Holborn.) 
All  the  quadrilles  in  this  book 
are  taken  from  subjects  in  the  ope- 
ra "  II  Don  Giovanni."     Some  of 
them  adapt  themselves  but  so  so  to  i 
the  purpose  of  dancing  ;  but  while  ' 
Don  Giovanni  is  the  favourite,  a  | 
little    allowance  will    readily    be 
made  in  his  behalf.     No.  4.  with  a  | 
new  trio,  appears  to  us  the  most ' 
fit  for  the  ball-room. 
«   Wert  thou  like  me,"  from  "  Tales  ! 
of  ray  Landlord,"  sung  by  Mrs.  ! 


Ashe    at   the    Bath   and   Bristol 
Concerts;  composed,  and  respect- 
fully inscribed  to  Miss  Hat/,  by 
F.J.Klose.     Pr.2s. 
The  melody  of  this  little  ballad 
is  simple,  and  offers  no  points  of 
striking  interest,  except  in  the  lat- 
ter half,  at  the  words  "  to  weep 
and   pray,"  which   are  expressed 
with  much  feeling,  and  the  harmo- 
ny of  which  is  conducted  with  skill 
upon  a  chromatic  descent  in  the 
bass.     This  passage  does  Mr.  K. 
great  credit. 

"  Poor  wretch  who  hast  nothing," 
Calantha's  Song,  from  "  Glenur- 
von,"   as   sung    by  Mrs.  Ashe  at 
the  Bath   and   Bristol  Concerts; 
composed  b}*  F.  J.  Klose.     Pr.  2s. 
Without  prominent  features  of 
originality,  this  ballad  ingratiates 
itself  by  tasteful  musical  diction, 
good  rhythmical  keeping,  and  by 
the  effective  accompaniment  with 
which  it  is  supported.     In  the  con- 
clusion, "  Thou  hast  ask'd,"   &c. 
Mr.  K.  has  been  particularly  suc- 
cessful ;  the   passage   is  pathetic, 
and  sympathizes  with  the  touching 
import  of  the  words. 
"  Le  Chanteur,"   Hondo  for  the  Pi- 
ano-forte, composed,  and  respect- 
fully inscribed  to  Mrs.  Collinson, 
by  E.  Frost.     Pr.  Is.  6d.  (Pres- 
ton, Strand.) 

A  short  bagatelle,  light,  agree-* 
able  enough,  and  quite  easy ;  evi- 
dently made  for  the  use  of  begin- 
ners, and  perfectly  proper  for  their 
practice.  A  less  frequent  change 
of  key,  in  a  piece  of  this  compass, 
would  perhaps  have  answered  bet- 
ter the  requisites  of  unity  in  de-> 
sign. 


°2SA 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


"  Love's  Wreath"  a  Ballad,  adapt- 
ed to  a  favourite  Portuguese  Me- 
lody by  J.  Davy  ;  written  by  D. 
A.   O'Meara,    Esq.     Pr.  Is.  6d. 
(Wheatstone,  Strand.) 
Tbe    Portuguese  air  to   which 
this  text  has  been  subjoined,  can- 
not fail  to  interest  the  ear  of  taste; 
it  is  a  melody  of  sweet  simplicity, 
placid    and   graceful   throughout. 
Mr.  Davy's  arrangement  merits  un- 
qualified approbation. 
"   Assemblce  d'Almackts"    Waltzes, 


composed  by  W.  Grosse  for   the 

Piano-forte.     No.  II.     Pr.  2s.; 

subscribers    Is.    6d.     (Goulding 

&Co.) 

The  majority  of  the  eight  waltz- 
es contained  in  this  book  have  de- 
cided claims  on  our  favour.  They 
are  not  only  in  good  style,  and  of 
Subjects  sufficiently  diversified,  tout 
well  calculated  for  the  ball-room. 
Some  of  these  waltzes  would  have 
gained  considerably  by  a  more  ac- 
tive and  elaborate  accompaniment. 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON  FASHIONS. 


PLATE   22. — WALKING   DRESS. 

A  kobe  and  petticoat  composed 
of  jaconot  muslin:  the  body  of 
the  robe  is  tight  to  the  shape,  the 
waist  a  moderate  length.  The  col- 
lar is  high;  it  falls  over  in  the 
neck,  and  is  richly  worked  at  the 
edge.  Long  loose  sleeves,  finish- 
ed at  the  bottom  by  a  fall  of  very 
rich  work.  The  trimming  of  the 
robe  consists  of  a  rich  embroidery 
of  moderate  breadth,  and  scol- 
loped at  the  edge;  this  goes  round 
the  bottom  and  up  the  fronts  as  far 
as  the  bottom  of  the  waist;  the 
fronts  are  ornamented  at  each  side 
of  the  bust  in  a  lighter  pattern. 
The  bottom  of  the  petticoat  is 
very  richly  worked  in  a  pattern  si- 
milar to  the  robe,  but  much  deeper. 
Head-dress,  a  bonnet  composed  of 
blue  gros  de  Naples:  the  crown  is 
round,  and  of  a  moderate  height; 
the  brim  is  deep,  is  rounded  at 
the  edges,  and  stands  out  a  good 
deal  from  the  sides  of  the  face; 
both  the  crown  and  brim  are  orna- 
mented with  gauze  folds  laid  on  at 
some   distance:   it   is  ornamented 


with  a  bouquet  of  blue  flowers, 
placed  upright  in  front  of  the 
crown,  and  a  knot  of  ribbon,  to 
correspond,  in  the  centre  of  the 
back  of  the  crown;  broad  blue 
strings  fasten  it  under  the  chin. 
A  blue  silk  scarf,  the  border  rich- 
ly wrought  in  flowers  of  various 
hues,  is  thrown  carelessly  over  the 
shoulders.  Gloves  and  half-boots 
of  kid,  to  correspond  with  the  bon- 
net and  scarf. 

PLATE    23. —  EVENING    DRESS. 

Round  dress  composed  of  Ur- 
ling's  net  over  a  pink  gros  de  Ay/- 
ples  slip.  The  bottom  of  the  skirt 
is  trimmed  with  a  full  ruche  of 
white  satin;  it  is  scolloped  at  the 
edge,  and  one  fall  turns  up.  The 
corsage  is  tight  to  the  shape,  and 
of  the  usual  length:  it  is  cut  mo- 
derately low  round  the  bust,  which 
is  ornamented  with  a  thick  rouleau 
of  white  satin  entwined  with  pearl; 
a  mixture  of  blond  and  white  satin, 
fancifully  disposed,  decorates  the 
front  of  the  corsage.  The  sleeve 
is  very  short,  and  is  uncommonly 
novel  and  pretty :  it  is  composed 


i 


<%, 


1  '''  ■  ^SStU^'T'-t "'" 


! 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND   DRESS. 


235 


of  blond,  put  on  full  over  pink 
gros  de  Naples;  the  fulness  is  inter- 
spersed with  stars  of  pink  gros  de 
Naples,  corded  with  white  satin; 
white  satin  shells  are  placed  be- 
tween these  stars,  and  a  plain 
band  of  blond  edged  with  white 
satin  finishes  the  sleeve.  A  rich 
white  satin  sash,  fastened  behind 
in  short  bows,  and  ends  which 
reach  nearl}'  to  the  ground,  com- 
pletes the  dress.  Head-dress,  a 
small  hat  composed  of  pink  gros 
de  Naples:  the  crown  is  moderately 
high;  it  is  ornamented  en  marmette 
with  a  small  square  handkerchief 
of  white  blond  net;  the  ends  are 
tacked  down,  and  the  edge  of  the 
handkerchief  is  ornamented  with 
pearls.  The  brim  of  the  hat  is  cut 
out  in  the  form  of  tabs;  they  turn 
up,  and  are  edged  with  pearl ;  a 
pearl  ornament  is  placed  exactly 
in  the  centre  of  the  hat  between 
the  tabs,  and  a  superb  plume  of 
white  ostrich  feathers,  placed  on 
the  left  side,  droops  nearly  to  the 
chin.  White  kid  gloves,  and  white 
satin  shoes. 

We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
point,  inventress  of  the  corset  a  la 
Grecque,  No.  9,  Henrietta-street, 
Covent-Garden,  for  both  these 
dresses. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON 
FASHION    AND    KRESS. 

The  mildness  of  the  weather  up 
to  the  present  period  has  rendered 
promenade  dress  lighter  than  it 
usually  is  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
Muslin  dresses, which  areworn  with 
scarfs,  shawls,  or  spencers,  are  still 
predominant.  Silk  pelisses  are, 
however,  creeping  into  favour;  and 
the  light  and  brilliant  hues  which 
were  most  in  fashion  during  sum- 

Vol  X.  No.  Li  in. 


incr,  arc  beginning  tobeexchang 
ed  for  the  rich  full  colours  more 
appropriate  to  autumn. 

Spencers  have  not  varied  great- 
ly in  form  for  some  time  past;  but 
we  observe  that  satin  is  less  used 
to  trim  them  than  usual :  it  is  mix- 
ed but  slightly  with  the  same  mate- 
rial as  the  spencer  is  composed  of. 
Falling  collars  are  now  less  worn 
than  those  which  stand  up  round 
the  throat.  The  bottom  of  the 
waist  is  always  finished  either  with 
a  small  full  jacket,  which  has  a  very 
jaunty  effect,  or  with  tabs:  these 
last  appeared  a  short  time  ago  to 
be  going  rapidly  out  of  favour: 
they  are  of  various  shapes,  shells, 
lozenges,  and  points ;  there  are 
frequently  two  rows  of  the  latter, 
and  they  are  put  full  behind. 

The  fair  votaries  of  fashion  ap- 
pear to  us  to  be  greatly  divided 
in  opinion  respecting  the  proper 
length  of  the  waist:  there  are  none 
who  wear  it  very  short,  but  many 
adopt  that  graceful  and  becoming 
length  which  displays  the  propor- 
tions of  the  form  to  the  greatest 
advantage;  while  others  go  to  the 
extreme  of  French  taste,  and  have 
their  dresses  made  too  long  to  be 
graceful,  and  not  long  enough  to 
shew  the  natural  shape.  We  must 
observe  that  this  last  fashion  chiefly 
predominates  among  belles  of  the 
highest  rank. 

Pelisses  are  as  yet  more  distin- 
guished for  the  simplicity  and  neat- 
ness of  their  form,  than  for  their 
elegance:  we  have  seen  several  of 
the  colour  of  the  dead  leaf;  this 
hue  is  coming  rapidly  into  favour. 
We  shall  endeavour  to  describe  one 
of  these,  which  we  thought  rather 
novel  and  tasteful. 

The  <kirt  was  of  an  easv  width 
I  I 


2.36 


GENERAL   CONSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND   DRESS. 


and  moderately  gored,  the  body 
rather  long  in  the  waist,  and  the 
back  very  full;  the  back  was  fi- 
nished at  the  bottom  by  a  row  of 
floss  silk  tufts  in  the  form  of  lo- 
zenges, placed  across  the  bottom, 
and  a  rich  silk  cord  and  tassel  tied 
at  the  side.  The  collar  was  very 
high  behind ;  it  was  pointed  in  the 
centre  of  the  back,  but  sloped  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  be  very  shal- 
low in  front.  The  sleeve  rather 
tight,  and  the  cuff  pointed  in  front 
of  the  arm.  The  trimming  con- 
sists of  dark  green  satin  laid  on  in 
points,  and  puckered  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  imitate  exactly  the 
coat  of  a  pine-apple:  this  trim- 
ming, which  is  very  broad,  goes 
entirelyround  the  pelisse.  Thecol- 
lar  and  cuffs  correspond,  as  does 
also  the  half-sleeve,  which  is  form- 
ed into  three  points,  from  each  of 
which  depends  a  silk  tuft:  the  ef- 
fect of  this  trimming  is  rich  and 
striking.  We  should  observe  that 
the  pelisse  is  lined  with  white  sars- 
net. 

Lavender-colour,  dark  slate,  and 
purple  are  also  in  favour  both  for 
pelisses  and  spencers.  We  have 
observed  nothing  novel  in  trim- 
mings, with  the  exception  of  the 
one  we  have  just  mentioned. 

Pelisses  are  little  worn  in  car- 
riage dress  ;  spencers  are  more  in 
favour,  but  shawls  and  scarfs  are 
still  more  fashionable.  ' 

Transparent  bonnets  are  hardly 
ever  seen  either  in  carriage  or 
promenade  dress  :  Leghorn  begins 
to  be  in  very  great  favour  in  the 
latter.  We  observe  as  yet  no  no- 
velty either  in  the  shape  or  size  of 
bonnets;  the  edges  of  the  brims 
still  continue  to  be  a  good  deal 
trimmed  with  blond,  gauze,  or  net. 


In  some  instances,  we  have  ob- 
served a  full  rouleau  of  satin, 
formed  into  puffs  by  very  small 
rosettes.  A  mixture  of  flowers 
and  ribbons  generally  ornaments 
promenade  bonnets:  the  former 
are  always  those  of  the  season, 
frequently  intermixed  with  ears  of 
corn.  Gros  de  Naples,  both  plain, 
figured,  and  spotted,  is  also  very 
much  in  request  for  promenade 
bonnets. 

A  new  style  of  hat  has  been  sub- 
mitted to  our  inspection,  which  we 
think  remarkably  pretty :  it  is  made 
in  white  gros  de  Naples :  the  crown 
is  moderately  high  ;  it  is  of  a  dome 
form,  and  is  finished  round  the  top 
with  a  fulness  of  transparent  gauze, 
which  is  formed  into  irregular  puffs 
by  large  white  satin  leaves.  The 
brim  is  very  shallow  behind,  but 
grows  deeper  in  front,  and  is  broad 
and  square  over  the  forehead  :  the 
edo-e  of  the  brim  is  ornamented 
to  correspond  with  the  top  of  the 
crown,  but  on  a  smaller  scale,  and 
is  finished  beside  with  a  small  cur- 
tain veil  of  white  lace.  A  low 
plume  of  Padua  feathers,  with  a 
white  satin  rosette  at  the  base,  is 
placed  upright  in  front;  and  rich 
white  strings,  put  very  far  back,  tie 
it  under  the  chin. 

Robes  are  rather  more  in  favour 
than  round  gowns  for  morning 
dress.  Sleeves  are  made  much 
wider  than  they  have  recently  been 
worn;  and  pelerines  have  declin- 
ed in  estimation.  Muslin  dresses, 
sprigged  in  coloured  worsted,  in 
the  manner  wedescribed  in  our  last 
Number,  are  much  more  worn 
than  white  round  dresses;  they  are 
also  trimmed  much  higher.  The 
trimming  of  white  dresses  con- 
sists either  of  muslin  bouillon  fie",  or 


J 


EH 

['VJI 

1 
•I 


3 

r3 


y 


n 


&i 


faM 


[•■KERCH    I  EMAtfc    FASHIONS. 


237 


of  worked  frounces  put  at  a 

sm.il!  distance  from  each  other ; 
spaces  between  being  filled 
with  work  of  that  description  that 
resembles  point  hice:  this  style  of 
trimming  has  a  very  rich  effect. 

Muslin  still  predominates  in  din- 
ner dress,  although  silk  is  likewise 
i  in  estimation.  V,  hite  bom- 
basine begins  to  be  a  good  deal 
used  for  dinner  gowns:  a  very  ele- 
gant one  made  for  a  distinguished 
fashionable,  who.  at  present  leads 
the  ton  at  Brighton,  has  just  been 
submitted  to  our  inspection.  rl  he 
skirt,  which  is  moderately  full,  is 
finished  at  the  bottom  by  a  fulness 
of  white  transparent  gauze,  which 
is  formed  into  puffs  by  bands  of 
royal  purple  satin,  edged  with 
white  gros  de  Naples,?  these  bands 
are  fastened  in  the  middle  of  each 
puff  by  a  purple  siik  button  :  a 
rouleau  of  royal  purple  satin  is 
f;;u •-ifully  disposed  above  this  trim- 
:  g  in  a  scroll  pattern.  The  cor- 
sage is  long  in  the  waist,  and  tight 
to  the  shape;  it  is  cut  rather  higher 
round  the  bust  than  usual :  a  piece 
of  white  satin  is  let  in  at  each  side 


of  the  bosom;  the  middle  part  is  of 
bombasine:   it  is  plain,  and  in   the 
shape  of  a  demi-lozenge;  the  white 
satin  letting-in  is  edged  with  royal 
purple  satin  piping.     The  bust  is 
trimmed  round  with  a  narrow  puf- 
fing   of    white    gauze,    the    puffs 
formed  by  purple  satin  bands.  The 
sleeve   is  very   full    and   short;  it 
consists  of  alternate  folds  of  white 
satin  and  bombasine,  looped  with 
purple  silk  buttons  ;  the  first  fold 
1  is  looped  in  the  middle  only,  the 
i  second  and  third  in  three  places: 
I  a    broad   white    satin   band  edged 
I  with  purple  confines  it  to  the  arm. 
The   hair    is    more    luxuriantly 
i  dressed   than  last  month.      Tuques 
I  and    dress    hats,   particularly   the 
|  latter,  are  coming  very  much  into 
favour,  but  they  aie  not  yet  so  ge- 
neral   as    flowers.       Feathers    are 
rarely  worn  in   the  hair,  but  they 
are  always  used  to  ornament  dress 
hats.  —  Fashionable     colours    are, 
Provence  rose-colour,  dark  slate- 
colour,  poppy,  Pomona  green,  roy- 
al  purple,  dead    leaf- colour,  and 
blue. 


FRENCH  FEMA 

Paris,  Sept.  18. 

My  fear  Sophia, 

Our  promenades  at  present  j 
exhibit  very  little  of  autumnal  cos-  | 
tutne,  for  the  majority  of  our  tie-  j 
guides   appear    more   lightly    clad 
than  in  the  midst  of  summer.   Mus- 
lin  is  the  order  of  the  day,   silk 
dresses  being  scarcely  ever  seen : 
the  coloured  muslins  which  I  men- 
tioned to  you  in  my  last  are  still 
fashionable,  but  not  so  much  so  as 
those  that  are  entirely  of  one  co- 
lour; blue,  lilac,  or  citron,  for  iu- 


LE  FASHIONS. 

stance;  and  wdiite  is  still  more  to- 
il ish  than  these. 

High  dresses  have  declined  very 
much  in  favour  since  I  wrote  last: 
they  are  still,  however,  partially 
worn;  but  the  majority  of  our  ele- 
gantes are  seldom  seen  out  of  doors 
in  them,  except  for  the  early  morn- 
ing walk.  Those  few  that  are  worn, 
are  made  in  a  pretty  and  rather 
dressy  style.  The  skirt,  which  I 
must  observe  has  resumed  its  unbe- 
coming tightness  round. the  upper 
part  of  the  figure,  is  trimmed  at  the 
I  I  2 


238 


FRENCH    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


bottom  with  rouleaus  of  the  same 
material  ;  these  are  thick,  and 
about  a  quater  of  a  yard  in  length; 
they  are  placed  perpendicularly, 
and  are  finished  at  each  side  with 
a  flounce  disposed  in  large  plaits: 
these  rouleaus  are  put  pretty  close 
to  each  other  ;  there  are  in  general 
twelve  or  thirteen  go  round  the 
dress.  The  back  of  the  corsage  is 
made  plain,  broad  between  the 
shoulders,  but  narrow  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  waist ;  a  double  flounce, 
not  quite  half  a  quarter  in  depth, 
goes  round  the  bust  just  above  the 
shoulders;  the  lower  part  of  the 
bust  is  ornamented  with  a  stomach- 
er, which  is  let  in  full,  and  con- 
fined across  by  narrow  bands.  The 
collar  falls  over,  and  in  general 
sits  close  to  the  throat.  The  sleeve 
may  be  short  or  long,  at  the  fancy 
of  the  wearer:  this  will  appear 
odd  to  you,  and  it  certainly  does 
look  ridiculous  enough  to  cover 
the  bust  up  to  the  chin,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  bare  the  arms ;  but 
as  our  elegantes  are  not  very  stu- 
dious of  propriety,  we  see  it  fre- 
quently done.  If  the  sleeve  is 
long,  it  is  made  wide  at  the  top, 
and  narrower  towards  the  bottom; 
it  is  generally  confined  by  a  broad 
band  at  the  wrist,  and  finished  by 
a  double  flounce  :  if  the  sleeve  is 
short,  it  is  extremely  full,  and  is 
confined  by  an  easing  in  the  mid- 
dle. I  must  ohserve,  that  if  the 
gown  is  coloured,  the  lower  part 
of  the  sleeve  is  usually  white. 

I  must  now  describe  to  you  the 
low  gowns,  of  which  there  are  two 
sorts  —  those  cut  very  low,  and 
those  made  a  la  vierge;  that  is  to 
say,  to  display  very  little  of  the 
bust:  the  former  are  most  in  fa- 
vour; those   made  in  perkale   are 


much  trimmed,  and  are  profusely 
adorned  with  work.  The  most  fa- 
shionable style  of  trimming  is  mus- 
lin bouillomw,  formed  into  waves 
by  rows  of  embroidery.  The  trim- 
ming next  in  favour  consists  of  six 
narrow  bands  disposed  in  round 
plaits ;  three  of  these  are  placed 
as  high  as  the  knee,  and  the  re- 
maining three  at  the  ancle.  The 
bodies  of  the  robes  a  la  vierge  are 
frequently  composed  of  full  bands 
of  muslin  between  rows  of  embroi- 
deiy :  the  sleeves,  if  short,  are 
made  full,  and  generally  finished 
by  an  embroidered  band ;  some 
have  the  fulness  interspersed  with 
bands  of  work,  to  correspond  with 
the  bottom.  If  the  sleeves  are 
long,  they  have  a  very  formal  ef- 
fect, being  composed  of  alternate 
broad  bands  of  muslin  and  narrow 
ones  of  work. 

Whether  the  gown  is  made  a  la 
vierge,  or  very  low,  it  is  always 
made  without  any  trimming  round 
the  bust.  Nothing  can  be  more 
simple  than  the  form  of  the  very 
low  dresses;  tight  to  the  shape, 
with  short  full  sleeves,  confined  to- 
wards the  bottom  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  the  fulness  forms  a  rou- 
leau, and  finished  at  the  bottom  of 
the  skirt  either  with  the  little  bands 
I  have  just  described,  or  a  very 
broad  band  of  spotted  tulle.  Such 
is  the  dress  which  forms  at  once 
the  promenade  and  dinner  gowns. 

Our  out-door  coverings  at  pre- 
sent consist  of  white  and  black  lace 
mantles  and  scarfs:  the  former, 
though  we  choose  to  call  them  man- 

o 

ties,  are  in  reality  shawls :  they 
are  thrown  carelessly  over  the 
shoulders,  so  as  to  expose  the  front 
of  the  dress,  and  to  leave  the  up- 
per part  of  the  bust  bare;  but  if 


FRENCH    FEMALK    FASHIONS. 


230 


the  gown  be  made  very  low,  then 
the  mantle  is  brought  forward,  so 
as  to  shield  the  bust.  The  lace 
scarfs  are  very  long,  and  are  put 
on  very  gracefully,  being  disposed 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  form  a  pe- 
lerine round  the  shoulders.  This 
style  of  covering,  though  by  no 
means  indecent,  displays  the  neck 
in  a  manner  that  yon  would  think 
too  free  for  a  public  walk,  and 
which  I  never  remember  to  have 
seen  adopted  in  England.  Our 
friend  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  however, 
tells  me,  that  it  was  the  fashion 
twenty  years  ago  in  Ireland;  and 
as  it  is  a  mode  which  she  admires 
very  much,  she  endeavours  to  prove 
that  the  French  have  certainly  tak- 
en it  from  the  Irish,  who  she  de- 
clares have  a  right  to  set  the  fa- 
shions to  the  rest  of  Europe,  be- 
cause they  inherit  the  pure  taste 
of  their  ancestors  the  Greeks.  A 
French  lady  to  whom  she  made  this 
declaration,  listened  to  her  with  a 
look  in  which  amazement  and  con- 
tempt were  most  ludicrously  blend- 
ed, but  she  made  no  other  reply 
than  a  most  expressive  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  By  the  bye,  it  is  as- 
tonishing how  much  meaning  may 
be  conveyed  in  a  genuine  French 
shrug. 

Now  for  our  chapeaux,  the  ma- 
terials of  which  are  still  light, 
gauze  and  crape  being  as  much, 
if  not  more,  worn  than  gros  de  Na- 
ples or  straw.  The  various  mix- 
tures of  straw  and  silk  which  were 
so  prevalent,  have  entirely  disap- 
peared ;  but  white  cotton  straw 
still  continues  fashionable.  I  do 
not  see  any  material  alteration  in 
the  form  of  bonnets;  if  any  thing, 
1  think  they  are  a  little  smaller 
than  when  I  wrote  last:  but  I  have 
much  pleasure  in  telling  you,  that 


hats  with  moderately  high  crowns 
and  very  small  brims  are  begin- 
ning to  come  into  favour,  and  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  in  a  ve- 
ry little  time  they  were  to  super- 
sede the  large  and  in  general  un- 
becomingbonnets  which  have  been 
so  long  in  vogue. 

I  cannot  say  much  in  favour  of 
the  manner  in  which  we  ornament 
our  bonnets  at  present.  They  are 
still  adorned  with  flowers  and  rib- 
bons ;  but  you  can  hardly  con- 
ceive any  thing  more  tawdry,  glar- 
ing, and  inelegant  than  the  mix- 
ture of  colours  in  the  latter;  for 
instance,  a  white  gauze  or  crape 
chapeau  has  very  often  the  crown 
and  brim  both  adorned  with  rou- 
leaus of  mingled  deep  yellow  and 
Indian  pink.  A  bonnet  of  deep 
violet  is  trimmed  with  yellow,  and 
a  yellow  one  with  dark  green.  The 
flowers  are  seldom  selected  with 
better  taste  than  the  ribbons,  so 
that  upon  the  whole  a  really  ele- 
gant hat  is  rather  a  novelty  :  here 
and  there,  however,  we  meet  with 
some,  and  I  will  endeavour  to  de- 
scribe to  you  a  few  of  the  pretti- 
est. 

One  of  the  most  elegantly  sim- 
ple is  a  bonnet  of  white  gros  de  Na- 
ples; the  brim,  rather  wide  and 
rounded  at  the  corners,  is  finished 
at  the  edge  by  a  soft  roll  of  the 
same  material  entwined  with  plaits 
of  straw :  the  crown  is  covered 
with  a  piece  of  gros  de  Naples  cut 
in  points,  the  ends  of  which  are 
tacked  down;  these  points  stand 
out  full  from  the  centre  of  the 
crown  ;  they  are  also  adorned  at 
the  edge  with  plaits  of  straw;  ears 
of  ripe  wheat  are  fancifully  inter- 
,  mixed  between  the  points,  and 
'  straw-coloured  ribbon  ties  the  bon- 
net  under  the  chin. 


249 


FttKNCH   1'JiMALJi   FASHIONS. 


Another  very  elegant  bonnet  is 
of  dark  purple  crape  :  the  crown 
resembles  a  man's  hat:  the  brim  is 
of  the  usual  shape  ;  three  bias 
folds  of  gauze  adorn  the  edge  of 
the  brim ;  two  small  bouquets  of 
moss  roses  are  placed  opposite  to 
each  other  on  these  folds  on  each 
side  of  the  brim.  The  crown  is 
adorned  with  a  drapery  of  purple 
crape  disposed  in  wolves'  mouths;  a 
bouquet  of  moss  roses  is  placed  on 
each  side  of  the  crown,  to  corre- 
spond with  those  on  the  brim,  and 
a  larger  bouquet  mingled  with 
field-flowers  adorns  the  front  of  the 
crown.  The  strings  correspond 
with  the  bonnet  in  colour. 

A  third  chapeau,  which  I  saw  for 
the  ftrst  time  yesterday,  was  com- 
posed of  white  gros  de  Naples:  it 
has  a  small  crown,  which  stuck  out 
a  little  at  the  back  of  the  head, 
something  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  full  knot  in  which  the  hind  hair 
was  fastened  up  a  few  years  ago  ; 
the  brim  is  deep,  quite  square  be- 
hind, but  a  little  rounded  at  the 
corners.  The  trimming'  of  the 
edge  of  the  brim  consists  of  white 
satin  rings;  that  is  to  say,  narrow 
rolls  of  white  satin  formed  into 
rings  strung  closely  together  upon 
a  pink  ribbon ;  a  band  of  pink  sa- 
tin is  placed  upon  the  brim  at  a 
little  distance  from  this  trimming; 
a  band  of  the  same  kind  goes  round 
the  crown,  and  is  so  disposed  as  to 
stand  up  in  a  point  in  the  centre. 
A  full  bouquet  of  pinks  is  placed 
at  one  side  of  the  crown,  and  pink 
strings  tie  the  bonnet  under  the 
chin. 

The  materials  and  trimmings  of 
full  dress  have  not  altered  since  I 
wrote  last:  the  form  is  in  general 
the  same  as  those  of  the  very  low 


gowns  I  have  described  to  you  in 
speaking  of  promenade  costume: 
some  few  elegantes  have  introduced 
a  corsage  composed  of  alternate 
bands  of  ribbon,  disposed  in  bias 
flutings,  and  net;  the  bands  are 
placed  perpendicularly,  and  those 
of  the  ribbon  are  much  narrower 
than  the  net.  The  sleeves  are  usu- 
ally composed  of  two  draperies  of 
net  edged  with  fluted  ribbon. 

Hair -dressing  has  not  varied 
since  I  wrote  last.  Toques  are  in- 
creased in  favour,  but  the  most 
novel  coeffure  is  a  scarf  either  of 
silver  gauze  or  gauze  flowered  in 
colours:  this  is  wound  among  the 
hair  in  such  a  manner,  that  if  the 
gauze  is  flowered,  the  head  ap- 
pears at  a  little  distance  covered 
with  bunches  of  flowers  fanciful- 
ly and  irregularly  placed ;  if  the 
scarf  is  of  silver,  it  forms  a  num- 
ber of  glittering  tufts,  the  effect 
of  which  is  extremely  striking. 

Sapphires,  rubies,  and  emeralds 
begin  to  be  very  much  in  favour  in 
full-dress  jewellery  :  the  two  for- 
mer are  generally  mingled  in  the 
ornaments  for  the  hair  or  in  the 
necklace:  a  whimsical  but  very  fa- 
shionable appendage  to  the  latter 
is  an  arrow,  formed  always  of  gems 
to  correspond.  Emeralds  are  some- 
times worn  without  any  mixture, 
sometimes  with  pearls,  and  very 
frequently  with  gold. 

I  had  forgotten,  in  speaking  to 
you  of  our  promenade  costume,  to 
observe,  that  our  parasols  are  now 
worn  much  larger.  They  are  fre- 
quently lined  with  white  sarsnet, 
and  are  always  adorned  with  two 
rows  of  embroidery,  which  is  in 
general  in  white  silk.  These  rows 
are  either  placed  very  close  to 
each   other,  or  else  the  one  is  at 


THf'.    I'.AKLY    LIFK    OF    A    POET. 


24 


the  very  edge  of  the  parasol,  and  ij  someof  theverypretty  thingswhich 
the  other  at  a  considerable  dis-  Ij  I  expect  to  see  in  about  a  fortnight 
tance  from  it.  i;  at  a  splendid  fete;  but  remember, 

Adieu,  my  dear  friend!  Write  I  that  the  length  of  my  descriptions 


me  a  long  letter,  and  soon.  I  be- 
lieve I  may  venture  to  hold  out  to 
you  as  a  bribe,  the  description  of 


shall  be  regulated  by  that  of  your 
next  epistle  to  your  ever  affection- 
ate Kudocia. 


THE  SELECTOR  : 

Consisting  of  interesting  Extracts  j'ro-m  new  popular  Publications. 


THE    EARLY    LIFE  OF   A    POET. 

(From  Coleridge's  Biographia  Literaria.) 
(Continued  from  p.  175.) 


During  my  first  Cambridge  va- 
cation, I  assisted  a  friend  in  a  con- 
tribution for  a  literary  society  in 
Devonshire;  and  in  this  I  remem- 
ber to  have  compared  Darwin's 
work  to  the  Russian  palace  of  ice, 
glittering,  cold,  and  transitory. 
In  the  same  essay  too,  I  assigned 
sundry  reasons,  chiefly  drawn  from 
a  comparison  of  passages  in  the 
Lati  n  poets  with  the  origi  nal  Greek, 
from  which  they  were  borrowed, 
for  the  preference  of  Collins's  Odes 
to  those  of  Gray;  and  of  the  si- 
mile in  Shakspeare, 

"  How  like  a  younker  or  a  prodigal, 
The  skarfed  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
Hugg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 
How  like  a  prodigal  doth  she  return, 
With  over-weather'd  ribs  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent,  and  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet 
wind!" 

to  the  imitation  in  the  Bard  : 

"  Fair  laughs  the  morn,  and  soft  the  zephyr 

blows, 
While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm, 
In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  vessel  goes, 
Youth  at  the  prow  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm, 
Regardless  of  the  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway, 
That  hush'd  in  grim  repose,  expects  its  even- 
ing prey." 

(In  which,  by  the  bye,  the  words 
"  realm"  and  "  sway"  are  rhymes 


dearly  purchased.)  I  preferred 
the  original,  on  the  ground  that  in 
the  imitation  it  depended  wholly 
on  the  compositor's  putting,  or  not 
putting,  a  small  capital,  both  in 
this,  and  in  many  other  passages 
of  the  same  poet,  whether  the  words 
should  be  personifications,  or  mere 
abstracts.  I  mention  this,  because 
in  referring  various  lines  in  Gray 
to  their  original  in  Shakspeare  and 
Milton,  and  in  the  clear  percep- 
tion how  completely  all  the  pro- 
priety was  lost  in  the  transfer,  I 
was,  at  that  early  period,  led  to  a 
conjecture,  which,  many  years  af- 
terwards, was  recalled  to  me  from 
thesame  thought  having  been  start- 
ed in  conversation,  but  far  more 
ably,  and  developed  more  fully, 
by  Mr.  Wordsworth;  namely,  that 
this  style  of  poetry,  which  I  have 
characterized  above,  as  translations 
of  prose  thoughts  into  poetic  lan- 
guage, had  been  kept  up  by,  if  it 
did  not  wholly  arise  from,  the  cus- 
tom of  writing  Latin  verses,  and 
the  great  importance  attached  to 
these  exercises,  in  our  public 
schools.      Whatever    might    have 


242 


THE    EARLY    LIFE    OF   A   POET. 


been  the  case  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, when  the  use  of  the  Latin 
tongue  was  so  general  among 
learned  men,  that  Erasmus  is  said 
to  have  forgotten  his  native  lan- 
guage ;  yet  in  the  present  day  it  is 
not  to  be  supposed,  that  a  youth 
can  think  in  Latin,  or  that  he  can 
have  any  other  reliance  on  the  force 
or  fitness  of  his  phrases,  than  the  au- 
thority of  the  author  from  whence 
he  has  adopted  them.  Consequently 
he  must  first  prepare  his  thoughts, 
and  then  pick  out,  from  Virgil, 
Horace,  Ovid,  or  perhaps  more 
compendiously  from  his  Gradus, 
halves  and  quarters  of  lines,  in 
which  to  embody  them. 

I  never  object  to  a  certain  degree 
of  disputatiousness  in  a  young  man 
from  the  age  of  seventeen  to  that  of 
four  or  five  and  twenty,  provided 
I  find  him  alvvaj's  arguing  on  one 
side  of  the  question.  The  con- 
troversies occasioned  by  my  un- 
feigned zeal  for  the  honour  of  a  fa- 
vourite contemporary,  then  known 
to  me  only  by  his  works,  were  of 
great  advantage  in  the  formation 
and  establishment  of  my  taste  and 
critical  opinions.  In  my  defence 
of  thelines  running  into  eachother, 
instead  of  closing  at  each  couplet; 
and  of  natural  language,  neither 
bookish  nor  vulgar,  neither  redo- 
lent of  the  lamp  or  of  the  kennel, 
such  as,  J  will  remember  thee;  in- 
stead of  the  same  thought  tricked 
up  in  the  Rag-fair  finery  of, 


Thy  image  on  her  wing 

Before  my  fancy's  eye  shall  memory  bring, 

I  had  continually  to  adduce  the 
metre  and  diction  of  the  Greek 
poets  from  Homer  to  Theocritus 
inclusive;  and  still  more  of  our  el- 
der poets  from  Chaucer  to  Milton. 
Nor  was   this  all.     But   as  it  was 


my  constant  reply  to  authorities 
brought  against  me  from  later 
poets  of  great  name,  that  no  autho- 
rity could  avail  in  opposition  to 
truth)  nature,  logic,  and  the  lazes  of 
universal  grammar ;  actuated  too  by 
my  former  passion  for  metaphysi- 
cal investigations,  1  laboured  at  a 
solid  foundation,  on  which  perma- 
nently to  ground  my  opinions,  in 
the  component  faculties  of  the 
human  mind  itself,  and  their  com- 
parative dignity  and  importance. 
According  to  the  faculty  or  source 
from  which  the  pleasure  given  by 
any  poem  or  passage  was  derived, 
I  estimated  the  merit  of  such  poem 
or  passage.  As  the  result  of  all 
my  reading  and  meditation,  I  ab- 
stracted two  critical  aphorisms, 
deeming  them  to  comprise  the 
conditions  and  criteria  of  poetic 
style :  first,  that  not  the  poem 
which  we  have  read,  but  that  to 
which  we  return,  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  possesses  the  genuine 
power,  and  claims  the  name  of 
essential  poetry.  Second,  that  what- 
ever lines  can  be  translated  into 
other  words  of  the  same  language, 
without  diminution  of  their  sig- 
nificance, either  in  sense,  or  asso- 
ciation, or  in  any  worthy  feeling, 
are  so  far  vicious  in  their  diction. 
Be  it  however  observed,  that  I  ex- 
cluded from  the  list  of  worthy  feel- 
ings, the  pleasure  derived  from 
mere  novelty  in  the  reader,  and 
the  desire  of  exciting  wonderment 
at  his  powers  in  the  author.  Often- 
times since  then,  in  perusing 
French  tragedies,  I  have  fancied 
two  marks  of  admiration  at  the 
end  of  each  line,  as  hieroglyphics 
of  the  author's  own  admiration  at 
his  own  cleverness.  Our  genuine 
admiration  of  a  great  poet  is  a  con- 


Tlir:    CELL   OF   ST.  CUTHI1F.UT. 


£43 


tinuous  under-current  of  feeling; 
it  is  every  where  present,  but  sel- 
dom auy  where  as  n  separate  ex- 
citement. I  was  wont  boldly  to 
affirm,  that  it  would  be  scarcely 
more  difficult  to  push  a  stone  out 
from  the  pyramids  with  the  bare 
hand,  than  to  alter  a  word  in  Mil- 
ton or  Shakspeare  (in  their  most 
important  works  at  least),  without 
making  the  author  say  something 
else,  or  something  worse,  than  he 
does  say.  One  great  distinction, 
I  appeared  to  myself  to  see  plain- 
ly, between  even  the  characteris- 
tic faults  of  our  elder  poets,  and 
the  false  beauty  of  the  moderns. 
In  the  former,  from  Donne  to  Cow- 
ley, we  find  the  most  fantastic 
out-of-the-way  thoughts,  but  in  the 


most  pure  and  genuine  English  ; 
in  the  latter,  the  most  obvious 
thoughts,  in  language  the  most  fan- 
tastic and  arbitrary.  Our  faulty 
elder  poets  sacrificed  the  passion, 
and  passionate  flow  of  poetry,  to 
the  subtleties  of  intellect,  and  to 
the  starts  of  wit ;  the  moderns  to 
the  glare  and  glitter  of  a  perpetu- 
al, yet  broken  and  heterogeneous 
imagery,  or  rather  to  an  amphibi- 
ous something  made  up  half  of 
image,  and  half  of  abstract*  mean- 
iBg.  The  one  sacrificed  the  heart 
to  the  head  ;  the  other  both  heart 
and  head  to  point  and  drapery. 

*  I  remember  a  ludicrous  instance  in 
the  poem  of  a  young  tradesman : 
"  No  more  will  I  eml are  love's  pleasing  pain, 
Or  round  my  heart's  leg  tie  his  galling  chain." 


THE    CELL    OF    ST.CUTHBERT. 

(From  The  Abbot,  by  the  Author  of  Waverley.) 


The  Cell  of  St.  Cuthbert,  as  it 
was  called,  marked,  or  was  sup- 
posed to  mark,  one  of  those  rest- 
ing -  places  which  that  venerable 
saint  was  pleased  to  assign  to  his 
monks,  when  his  convent,  being 
driven  from  Lindisfern  by  the 
Danes,  became  a  peripatetic  so- 
ciety of  religionists,  and  bearing 
their  patron's  body  on  their  shoul- 
ders, transported  him  from  place 
to  place  through  Scotland  and  the 
borders  of  England,  until  he  was 
pleased  at  length  to  spare  them 
the  pain  of  bearing  him  farther, 
and  to  choose  his  ultimate  place  of 
rest  in  the  lordly  towers  of  Dur- 
ham. The  odour  of  his  sanctity 
remained  behind  him  at  each  place 
where  he  had  granted  the  monks  a 
transient  respite  from  their  labours 


i  assign  as  his  temporary  resting- 
place  any  spot  within  their  vicini- 
ty. Few  were  more  celebrated  and 
honoured    than    the   well-known 

!  Cell  of  St.  Cuthbert,  to  which  Ro- 
land Graeme  now  bent  his  way,  si- 

|  tuated  considerably  to  the  north- 
west of  the  great  abbey  of  Ken- 
naquhair,  on  which  it  was  depend- 
ent. In  the  neighbourhood  were 
some  of  those  recommendations 
which  weighed  with  the  experi- 
enced priesthood  of  Rome,  in 
choosing  their  sites  for  places  of 
religion. 

There  was  a  well  possessed  of 
some  medicinal  qualities,  which  of 
course  claimed  the  saint  for  its 
guardian  and  patron,  and  occa- 
sionally produced  some  advantage 
to  the  recluse  who  inhabited  its  cell, 


and   proud  were  those  who  could  [  since   none   could   reasonably   be 
rol.X.  No.LVlll.  K  k 


244 


THE   PELL   OF    ST.  CUTUHEUT, 


expected  to  be  benefited  by  the 
fountain  who  did  not  extend  their 
bounty  to  the  saint's  chaplain.  A 
few  roods  of  fertile  land  afforded 
the  monk  his  plot  of  garden- 
ground  :  an  eminence  well  clothed 
with  trees  rose  behind  the  cell,  and 
sheltered  it  from  the  north  and  the 
east;  while  the  front,  opening  to 
the  south-west,  looked  up  a  wild 
but  pleasant  valley,  down  which 
wandered  a  lively  brook,  which  bat- 
tled with  every  stone  which  inter- 
rupted its  passage. 

The  cell  itself  was  rather  plainly 
than  rudely  built ;  a  low  Gothic 
building,  with  two  small  apart- 
ments, one  of  which  served  the 
priest  for  his  dwelling-place,  the 
other  for  his  chapel.  As  there 
were  few  of  the  secular  clergy  who 
durst  venture  to  reside  so  near  the 
Border,  the  assistance  of  this  monk, 
in  spiritual  affairs,  had  not  been 
useless  to  the  community  while  the 
Catholic  religion  retained  the  as- 
cendancy; as  he  could  marry, 
christen,  and  administer  the  other 
sacraments  of  the  Roman  church. 
Of  late,  however,  as  the  Protest- 
ant doctrines  gained  ground,  he 
had  found  it  convenient  to  live  in 
close  retirement,  and  to  avoid  as 
much  as  possible  drawing  upon 
himself  observation  or  animadver- 
version.  The  appearance  of  his 
habitation,  however,  when  P^oland 
Gramme  came  before  it  in  the  close 
of  the  evening,  plainly  shewed 
that  his  caution  had  been  finally 
ineffectual. 

The  page's  first  movement  was  to 
knock  at  the  door,  when  he  observ- 
ed to  his  surprise  that  it  was  open, 
not  from  being  left  unlatched,  but 
beca  t  off  its  upper  hinge. 

as  only  f  to  the  door- 


post by  the  lower,  and  could  there- 
fore no  longer  perform  its  func- 
tions. Somewhat  alarmed  at  this, 
and  receiving  no  answer  when  he 
knocked  and  called,  Roland  be- 
gan to  look  more  at  leisure  upon 
the  exterior  of  the  little  dwelling 
before  he  ventured  to  enter  it.  The 
flowers  which  had  been  trained  with 
care  against  the  wall,  seemed  to 
have  been  recently  torn  down,  and 
trailed  their  dishonoured  garlands 
on  the  earth;  the  latticed  window 
was  broken  and  dashed  in.  The 
garden,  which  the  monk  had  main- 
tained by  his  constant  labour  in 
the  highest  order  and  beaut}7,  bore 
marks  of  having  been  lately  trod 
down  and  destroyed  by  the  hoofs 
of  animals  and  the  feet  of  men. 

The  sainted  spring  had  not  es- 
caped. It  was  wont  to  arise  be- 
neath a  canopy  of  ribbed  arcb.es, 
with  which  the  devotion  of  elder 
times  had  secured  and  protected 
its  healing-  waters.  These  arches 
were  now  almost  entirely  demolish- 
ed, and  the  stones  of  which  they 
were  built  were  tumbled  into  the 
well,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 
choking  up  and  destroying  its 
fountain,  which,  as  it  had  shared 
in  other  days  the  honour  of  the 
saint,  was  in  the  present  doomed 
to  partake  his  unpopularity.  Part 
of  the  roof  had  been  pulled  down 
from  the  house  itself,  and  an  at- 
tempt had  been  made  with  crows 
and  levers  upon  one  of  the  angles, 
by  which  several  large  corner 
stones  had  been  forced  out  of  their 
place  ;  but  the  solidity  of  the  an- 
cient mason-work  had  proved  too 
great  for  the  time  or  patience  of 
the  assailants,  and  they  had  relin- 
quished their  task  of  destruction. 
Such  dilapidated   buildings,  after 


THI.   CKLL   OF   ST.  CUTHBERT. 


24.5 


the  lapse  of  years,  during  which  i 
nature  has  gradually  covered  the  . 
effects  of  violence  with  creeping 
plants  and  with  weather  stains, 
exhibit  amid  their  decay  a  melan- 
choly beautv.  But  when  the  visi- 
ble effects  of  violence  appear  raw 
and  recent,  there  is  no  feeling  to 
mitigate  the  sense  of  devastation 
with  which  they  impress  the  spec- 
tators; and  such  was  now  the  scene 
on  which  the  youthful  page  gazed 
with  the  painful  feeling  it  was 
qualified  to  excite. 

When  his  first  momentary  sur- 
prise was  over,  Roland  Graeme  was 
at  no  loss  to  conjecture  the  cause 
of  these  ravages.  The  destruction 
of  the  Popish  edifices  did  not  take 
place  at  once  throughout  Scot-  ! 
land, but  at  different  times,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  spirit  which  actuat- 
ed the  Reformed  clergy  ;  some  of 
whom  instigated  their  hearers  to 
these  acts  of  demolition;  and  others, 
with  better  taste  and  feeling,  en- 
deavoured to  protect  the  ancient 
shrines,  while  they  desired  to  see1 
them  purified  from  the  objects 
which  had  attracted  idolatrous  de-  II 
votion.  From  time  to  time  there-  : 
fore  the  populace  of  the  Scottish 
towns  and  villages,  when  instigated 
either  by  their  own  feelings  of  ab- 
horrence for  Popish  superstition, 
or  by  the  zealous  doctrines  of  the 
more  zealous  preachers,  resumed 
the  work  of  destruction, and  exer- 
cised it  upon  some  sequestered 
church,  chapel,  or  cell,  which  had 
escaped  the  first  burst  of  their  in- 
dignation against  the  religion  of 
Rome. 

In  the  present  instance,  the  un- 
pretending  and  quiet  seclusion  of 


the  monk  of  Saint  Cuthbert  had 
hitherto  saved  him  from  the  gene- 
ral wreck  ;  but  it  would  seem  ruin 
had  now  at  length  readied  him. 
Anxious  to  discover  if  he  bad  at 
least  escaped  personal  harm,  Ro- 
land Graeme  now  entered  the  half- 
ruined  cell. 

The  interior  of  the  building  was 
in  a  state  which  fully  justified  the 
opinion    he  had  formed   from    its 
external  injuries.      The  few  ; 
utensils  of  the  solitary's  hut 
broken  down  and  lay  scattered  on 
the  floor,  where  it  seemed  as  if  a 
fire  had  been  made  with  some  of 
the  fragments  to  destroy  the  rest 
of  his  property,  and  to  consume,  in 
particular,  the  rude  old  image  of 
Saint   Cuthbert,   in  its   epi 
habit,  which  lay  on  the  hearth  like 
Dagon  of  yore,  shattered  with  the 
axe  and  scorched  with  the  flames, 
but  only  partially  destroyed. 
the  little  apartment  which  served 
as    a  chapel,  the  altar  was   over- 
thrown, and  the  four  huge  stones 
of  which  it  had  been  once  compos- 
ed, lay  scattered  around  the  floor. 
The   large   stone    crucifix    wl 
occupied  the  niche  behind  the  al- 
tar,   and  fronted    the 
while  ha  paid  his  devotion  there, 
had  been  pulled  down  and  dash- 
ed   by  its  own   weight  into  these 
fragments.     There  were  marks  of 
sledge-hammers  on  each  i 
yet  the  image  had  been  saved  from 
utter  demolition    by  the  size  and 
strength  of    the    remaining  I 
ments,  which,  though  much  injur- 
ed, retained  enough  of  the  oris 
sculpture  to  shew  what  it  had  been 
intended  to  represent. 
(To  be  contimu 


K    K.    2 


246 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Mr.  Ackkrmann  announces  for 
publication  by  subscription,  a  Pic- 
turesque Tour  of  the  Seine,  from 
Paris  to  the  Sea;  embracing  the 
greater  part  of  Normandy,  a  pro- 
vince peculiarly  interesting  to  the 
English  traveller,  for  its  natural 
beauties,  antiquarian  curiosities, 
and  historical  recollections.  The 
work  will  be  comprised  in  six 
monthly  parts,  containing  twenty- 
four  highly  coloured  engravings, 
and  will  correspond,  in  the  general 
style  of  its  execution,  with  the  nu- 
merous illustrated  works  produced 
within  these  few  years  by  the  same 
publisher. 

Mr.  Ackermann  has  also  in  the 
press,  the  Third  and  Last  Tour  of 
Dr.  Syntax,  in  Search  of  a  Wife;  a 
subject  which  promises  a  degree  of 
interest,  vivacity,  and  entertain- 
ment, equalling,  if  not  surpass- 
ing, that  of  the  two  preceding  po- 
pular 1  ours.  Like  them,  it  will 
form  a  distinct  volume,  consisting 
of  eight  monthly  numbers,  the  first 
of  which  will  appear  on  October  1. 

Dr.  Gesenius,  who,  with  Lord 
Guildford,  has  been  recently  tran- 
scribing some  Arabian  MSS.  at  the 
Bodleian  library,  has  nearly  com- 
pleted the  singular  task  of  trans- 
lating the  Book  of  Enoch  from  the 
Abyssinian  language.  This  lan- 
guage resembles  the  Arabic,  one 
fourth  of  the  words  perhaps  being 
radically  of  that  tongue,  in  which 
the  learned  doctor  is  well  skilled, 
while  he  is  also  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  Hebrew  scholars  on  the 
Continent. 

In  the  press,  a  new  edition  of 
the  Rev.  T.  H.  Home's  Introduc- 
tion to  the  critical  Stud  it  and  Knorv- 
ledge  of  the  Holy  Scriptures;  in  four 


large  Svo.  volumes.  As  the  third 
volume  will  consist  principally  of 
new  matter,  it  is  intended  to  print 
an  extra  number  of  copies  of  that 
volume,  with  the  additional  plates, 
for  the  accommodation  of  such 
purchasers  of  the  first  edition  as 
may  order  the  same  on  or  before 
January  1,   1821. 

On  the  1st  of  September,  Mr. 
Brookshaw  (author  of  the  "  Pomo- 
na Britannica,")  will  produce  the 
first  two  parts  of  an  entirely  new 
work  on  fruit,  entitled  the  Hor- 
ticultural Repository;  containing 
delineations  of  the  best  varieties 
of  the  different  species  of  Eng- 
lish fruit ;  to  which  are  added,  the 
blossoms  and  leaves,  in  those  in- 
stances in  which  they  are  judged 
necessary:  accompanied  with  full 
descriptions  of  their  various  pro- 
perties, their  time  of  ripening,  and 
directions  for  planting  them,  so  as 
to  produce  a  longer  succession  of 
fruit;  such  being  pointed  out  as 
are  particularly  calculated  for  open 
walls,  and  for  forcing.  It  will  be 
completed  in  about  26  parts. 

In  the  press,  and  speedily  will 
be  published,  Traits  and  Trials,  a 
novel,  in  two  volumes. 

Select  Fables,  with  cuts,  designed 
and  engraved  by  Thomas  and  John 
Bewick  and  others,  previously  to  the 
vear  1734,  together  with  a  memoir 
and  descriptive  catalogue  of  the 
works  of  Messrs.  Bewick,  Svo.  will 
early  appear.  A  very  small  num- 
ber are  printed  on  large  paper,  to 
match  the  other  works  of  Mr.  Be- 
wick; viz.  in  royal  Svo. 

Also,  Lectures  on  the  Temper  and 
Spirit  of  the  Christian  Religion;  first 
written  and  delivered  to  the  inmates 
of  a  large  public  asylum,  and  now 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,   kc. 


247 


published,  and  addressed  to  the  nu- 
merous parties  which  agitate  and 
divide  this  empire,  by  Matthew 
Allen,  author  of  "  Outlines  of  a 
Course  of  Lectures  on  Chemical 
Philosophy,1'  <kc. 

Mr.  W.  G.  Rogers  will  publish 
early  in  October,  an  engraving  of 
the  Warwick  Vast,  in  the  litho- 
graphic manner. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  the 
first  number  of  a  Progressive.  Series 
of  Ornamental  Sketches,  original  and 
selected,  drawn  on  stone  by  W. 
G.  Rogers. 

The  following  arrangements  have 
been  made  for  Lectures  at  the 
Surry  Institution,  during  the  en- 
suing season:  1.  On  Metallurgy 
and  Mineralogical  Chemistry,  by 
Frederick  Accum,  Esq.  M.R.I. A. 
&c.  &c.  To  commence  on  Tues- 
day, Oct.  31,  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  evening  precisely,  and  to  be 
continued  on  each  succeeding 
Tuesday.— 2.  On  Electricity,  by 
C.  Woodward,  Esq.  To  commence 
on  Friday,  Nov.  3,  and  to  be  con- 
tinued on  each  succeeding  Friday 
at  the  same  hour. — 3.  On  Music, 
by  W.  Crotch,  Mus.  Doc.  professor 
of  music  in  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford, early  in  1821. 

Mr.  Curtis  will  commence  his 
next  Course  of  Lectures  on  the 
Anatomy,  Physiology,  and  Patho- 
logy of  the  Ear,  and  on  the  Me- 
dical Treatment  of  the  Deaf  and 
Dumb,  early  in  Oct.  at  the  Royal 
Dispensary  for  Diseases  of  the  Ear. 

We  are  desirous  of  calling  the 
attention  of  our  readers  to  the  in- 
genious invention  of  a  Fire-Alarum 
by  Mr.  J.  G.  Colbert.  This  instru- 
ment is  portable,  of  the  size  and 
general  appearance  of  a  time- 
piece, except  that  the  dial-plate 
exhibits  a  semicircle  marked  with 


the  degrees  from  1  to  180.  When 
the  index  is  placed  at  half  or  a 
whole  degree,  or  more,  above  the 
heat  of  the  atmosphere  at  the  time, 
any  increase  of  temperature  be- 
yond the  degree  indicated  sets  the 
alarum  in  motion,  and  thus  gives 
notice  of  the  approaching  danger. 
Hence  it  is  obvious,  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  thermometer  has  been 
applied  to  this  instrument,  which 
may  be  placed  in  any  situation, 
and  is  sold  at  prices  varying  from 
five  to  thirty  guineas,  according 
to  the  plainness  or  elegance  of 
the  execution.  All  those  who  wish 
to  obtain  an  additional  security 
against  the  dangers  of  fire  by  night, 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  in- 
specting this  contrivance  at  Mr. 
Ackermann's  Repository  of  Arts. 

Baron  von  Drais,  of  Manheim, 
has  invented  what  he  calls  an  Ele- 
vating Telescope,  by  means  of 
which,  looking  through  a  tube 
about  \\  inch  in  diameter,  and  3 
feet  high,  in  the  shape  of  a  stick, 
you  may  command,  not  2|,  but  21  \ 
degrees  of  the  horizon,  in  spite  of 
intervening  obstacles.  These  te- 
lescopes, it  is  affirmed,  will  be  par- 
ticularly useful :  1st,  In  popular  as- 
semblies,though  you  stand  on  level 
ground,  to  look  over  the  heads  of 
the  people,  even  if  they  wear  high 
hats  or  head-dresses:  2dly,  For  a 
general  to  command  a  much  more 
extensive  view  than  by  ascending 
an  eminence:  3dly,Onboard  ships, 
to  see  to  as  great  a  distance  over 
the  sea  when  down  below,  as  you 
could  from  the  mast-head  :  4thly, 
In  houses,  to  be  able,  by  means  of 
a  tube  (which  may  always  be  turn- 
ed round)  through  the  roof  of  the 
house,  to  have  almost  the  same  ef- 
fect in  the  lower  story,  as  if  the  eye 
were  elevated  far  above  the  house. 


248 


$oett». 


SORROW'S  EXPOSTULATION. 
(ByS.T.) 
If  the  halcyon  of  pleasure  has  sportively 
chosen 
Thy  happier  heart  for  her  downy  repose, 
And  the  vulture  of  grief,  in  a  region  so  frozen 
As  my  cheerless  bosom,  has  nurtured  her 
woes  ; 
Deride  not  the  tear  that  is  mournfully  steal- 
ing 
■    Adown  a  pale  cheek,  once  unwither'd  as 

thine, 
Thoi'gh  its   moisture  display  the  wan  lustre 
of  feeling, 
As  vainly  as  dewdrops  on  barren  thorns 
shine. 
Nor  mock  the  soft  sigh  that  escapes  but  to 
wander 
Where  tenderness  peoples  regret's  darkest 
shade, 
Of  its   own    plaintive    echo,  there    vibrated 
fonder 
Than  all  the  light  melody  mirth  ever  made : 
Tor  the  tear  and  the  sigh,  that  with  scornful 
rejection 
Arebanish'd  from  minds  never  school'd  in 
their  cost, 
Form  a  circle  of  gems,  reminiscent  affection 
Fondly    clasps  round    the    shrine   of   the 
loved  and  the  lost. 

But  when  that  affection  no  longer  is  glowing 

Within  the   lorn  bosom  that  cherish'd  its 

stay, 

May  friendship,  reciprocal  tribute  bestowing, 

A  gem  of  such  price  to  remembrance  pay  : 

While  the"*angel  of  peace  (the  freed  spirit 

receiving) 

Disperses  humanity's  mists  from  its  eyes, 

To  smile  on  the  sorrow-worn  ashes'tis  leaving, 

And  see  the  bright  phoenix  of  happiness 

rise.  S.  T. 

Doncaster,  1820. 


THE  PARTING:  A  Picture. 

The  eve-star  rose  above  the  eastern  hill, 
Leading  the  crescent  up  the  purple  sky, 

The  forest  breezes  slept,  the  vale  was  still, 

But  when  a  low  sweet  murmur  would  steal  by 

From  the  carnation-beds,  as  rustling  nigh, 


The  wild  bird  shook  the  dewdrops  from   its 

wing, 
Then  on  its  nest  sank  close  and  silently  ;   - 
Or  at  some  lady's  bower  the  silver  string 
Told  where  in   sileut  shades   her   love   was 

lingering. 

But  now  the   brightening  moonbeams  lit   a 
door 
In  the  low  archway  of  a  battled  tower, 
And  as  it  open'd,  on  the  marble  floor 

A  maiden  stood  like  a  night-weeping  flower; 
One   light   hand   press'd    aside    the   rosy 
bower, 
And  one  led  forth  a  form  of  helm  and  plume  : 
This  was  the  lover's  last,  loved,  bitter  hour; 
Long  had  they  linger 'd,  but  the  hour  was 
come- 
That  door  to  them  was  like  the  opening 
tomb. 

They  stopp'd  upon  the  threshold,   and  the 
pair 
Were  silent  still.     But  in  the  quivering 
light, 
Down  the  small  fingers  of  that  lady  fair,     ■ , 
From  her  press'd  eyes,  like  dew  on  lilies 
white, 
Stole  pearly  tears.     Above  her  tower'd  the 
knight, 
Like  a  proud  tree  unbending  in  the  storm  ; 
Yet  pale,  and  gazing  on  the  tresses  bright 
That  from  their  jewell'd   braids  fell  o'er 

her  form, 
Shading  her  bended  brow  and  cheek  with 
blushes,warm. 

He  moved  a  sudden  step,  and  press'd  her 
hand; 
But  that  young  beauty  rais'd  her  splendid 
eye, 
That  fix'd  him  like  a  spell.     Her  blush  had 
waned, 
Yet  in  its  paleness  was  wild  witchery. 
He  felt  upon  his  heart  her  bosom  lie, 

And  as  again  her  lip  with  ruby  burn'd, 
His  own  upou  it  stooped  unconsciously  : 
His  soul  was  in  that  lovely  shrine  inurn'd  ; 
They  paused,  press'd,  wept,  and  to    the 
tower  returh'd. 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  ;$?•>,  Strand. 


THE 


^Repository 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  fyc. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


November  1,  1820. 


N°  LIX. 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  pack 

1.  A  Conservatory 249 

2.  View  of  Milan      285 

3.  SlDEROGRAPHIA         ...........    290 

4.  Ladies'  Walking  Dkess 301 

5.  Evening  Dress         .........  302 

0.  Muslin  Patterns. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
Hints  on    Ornamental  Gardening.  —  A 
Conservatory        249 

MISCELLANIES. 

The    Antiquity    and    Use    of  Playing- 

Cards .     .  £50 

Parisian  Sketches,   No.  XII 253 

Sam  Spinbrain's  Letter  to  the  Editor     .  258 
On  the  Voyages  for  the  Discovery  of  a 

North- Western  Passage 261 

Letter  from  James  Howel  to  Ben  JonsoTJ  263 

Spanish  Literature 264 

Sentimental    Travels    in    the    South    of 

France,  Letter  XXIII.  (concluded)     .  269 

Origin  of  Balloons 273 

A  remarkable  Instance  of  the  Evidence 

of  a  Ghost 274 

Biosrraphical  Sketch  of  Mantaccini,  the 

famous  Charlatan  of  Paris       .     .     .     275 
My  own  Choice  and  my  Mother's,  a  Tale 

(concluded) 277 

Poems  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  280 
Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon. — 

View  of  Milan 9BS 

The  Female  Tattler.— No.  LIX.     ...  287 
Siderographia,  or  the  Mode  of  perpetu- 
•  ating  Engravings  on  Steel      ....  290 
Dr.  Syntax  in  Search  of  a  Wife     .     .     .  2r>2 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Daxnf.lf.y's  Introduct.  to  Thorough-bass  296 

Smith's  *'  How  sweet  to  see  younu:  roses 
blooming" 298 

Hodsoll's  Collection  of  Piano-forte  Du- 
ets, No.  XLVIII 299 

Rimbailt's  Mozart's  Grand  Symphony 
arranged  for  the  Piano-forte  .     ib. 

Parry's  Thanet  Quadrille ib. 

Frost's  Three  Waltzes ib. 

Monro's  Zodiac,  Nos.  V.  to  X.     .     .     .  300 

Beale's  Evening  Walk,  a  Glee     .     .     .    ib. 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Walking 
Dress 301 

Ladies'  Evening  Dress 302 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress ib. 

French  Female  Fashions 303 

THE  SELECTOR. 

The  Cell  of  St.  Cuthbert  (from  "  The 
Abbot,"  bv  the  Author  of  "  Waver- 
lev") 306 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC      ....  309 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


TO  OUR  REviDERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  works  ivhich  they  may  have  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert 
them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  New  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  new  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  ivill  be  acceptable. 

We  shall  continue  the  Correspondence  of  the  Adviser  in  our  next :  the  favour  of 
S.  S.for  our  present  Number  did  not  reach  us  in  time  for  insertion. 

The  continuation  of  the  Essay  on  the  Origin,  &c.  of  Playing-Cards  25  received, 
and  will  be  inserted  shortly. 

The  articles  on  Spanish  Literature  are  highly  approved,  and  the  offer  of  a  succes- 
sion of  them  is  accepted  with  pleasure. 

We  have  received  the  proposal  of  Antiquarius  regarding  inserting  notices  and  spe- 
cimens of  the  Novels  on  which  Shakspeare  founded  his  Plays:  our  only  objection  is, 
that  we  doubt  whether  they  will  be  adapted  to  general  readers.  If  all  had  the  same 
taste  as  the  gentleman  by  whom  the  suggestion  is  made,  we  should  not  hesitate. 

P.  Q,.  and  T.  T.  both  on  the  same  subject,  are  under  consideration. 

F,  L.  L r  is  merely  personal,  and  his  letter  on  other  accounts  is  inadmissible. 


Persons  who  reside  abroad,  and  who  wish  to  he  supplied  with  this  Work  every  Mouth  as 
published,  may  have  it  sent  to  them,  free  of  Postage,  to  New-York,  Halifax,  Quebec,  and 
to  any  part  of  the  West  Indies,  at  £i  12s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Thorn  hill,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  21,  Sherborne- Lane  ;  to  Hamburgh,  Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta,  or 
any  Part  of  the  Mediterranean,  at  £i  J2s.  per  Annum,  by  Mr.  Serjeant,  of  the  General 
Post-Office,  at  No.  22,  Sherborne-lane  ;  and  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  any  part  of  the 
East  Indies,  by  Mr.  Guy,  at  the  East-India  House.  The  money  to  be  paid  at  the  time  of 
subscribing,  for  either  3,  G,  9,  or  12  months. 


^ 


i 


THL 


&eposttorp 


OI' 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,   FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  §c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


November  1,  1820. 


N°  LIX. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  page   187.) 
PLATE    25. — A   CONSERVATORY. 


Buildings  for  the  preservation  I 
and  display  of  exotics  and  other  - 
plants,  are  features  in  every  gar-  j 
den  possessing  qualifications  to  be 
called  so,  and  they  have  become  j 
interesting:  from  the  delight  that , 
is  now  taken  in  the  study  of  bo-  j 
tany,  and  from  the  embellishment 
they  afford  to  garden  scenery. 

The  design  annexed  is  for  a 
small  conservatory,  intended  to  be 
viewed  both  from  the  north  and 
south  fronts,  so  as  to  be  ornament- 
al to  two  portions  of  the  garden. 
The  front  represented  is  towards 
the  north;  at  each  end  is  an  alcove, 
as  shaded  retreats  in  summer.  The 
south  front  would  have  an  addi- 
tion of  glass  at  each  end,  extend- 
ing that  front  to  the  extremities  of 
the  building,  the  ends  of  which 
being  glass  also  to  half  the  width 

ful.  X.  2VV  LIX. 


of  the  conservatory,  the  rays  of 
the  sun  would  be  received  towards 
the  east,  the  south,  and  the  west. 
Between  the  alcoves  and  the  winsrs, 
the  stoke-house  and  small  tool- 
house  would  be  situated. 

This  plan  presents  an  unusual 
disposition  of  the  arrangements  of 
a  conservatory,  because  it  is  in 
part  open  to  the  north;  but  being 
so  small,  that  one  fire  in  winter 
would  supply  an  ample  quantity 
of  heat  for  the  usual  purposes,  the 
advantage  of  greater  display  may 
be  thus  obtained  without  too  great 
a  sacrifice. 

The  alcoves  and  piers  are  pro- 
posed to  be  executed  in  brick- 
work, and  covered  with  cement; 
the  step  of  Portland  stone,  and 
the  sashes  of  metal. 

L   L 


250 


MISCELLANIES. 

THE  ANTIQUITY  AND  USE  OF  PLAYING-CARDS. 

The  general  opinion  respecting  i  to  the  throne  of  France,  if  it  could 


the  origin  of  playing-cards  is 
that  they  were  first  made  for  the 
amusement  of  Charles  VI.  of 
France,  at  the  time  he  was  afflicted 
with  a  mental  derangement.  The 
proof  of  this  supposition  depends 
upon  an  article  in  the  treasury  re- 
gisters belonging  to  that  monarch, 
which  states  that  a  payment  was 
made  to  Jucquemin  Gringonneur, 
painter,  for  three  packs  of  cards, 
gilded,  and  painted  with  divers 
colours  and  different  devices,  to  be 
carried  to  the  king  for  his  diver- 
sion. If  it  be  granted,  and  I  see 
no  reason  why  it  should  not,  that 
this  entry  alludes  to  playing-cards, 
the  consequences  that  have  been 
deduced  from  it  do  not  necessarily 
follow;  I  mean  that  these  cards 
were  the  first  that  were  made,  or 
that  Gringonneur  was  the  invent- 
or of  them:  it  by  no  means  pre- 
cludes the  probability  of  cards 
having  been  previously  used  in 
France,  but  simply  states  that  those 
made  by  him  were  gilt  and  diver- 
sified with  devices  in  variegated 
colours,  the  better  to  amuse  the 
unfortunate  monarch. 

Some,  allowing  that  Gringon- 
neur was  the  first  maker  of  playing- 
cards,  place  the  invention  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  V.upon  the  au- 
thority of  Jean  de  Saintre,  who 
was  page  to  that  monarch :  he  men- 
tions card-playing  in  his  chroni- 
cle, for  he  was  an  author;  and  the 
words  he  uses  would  be  sufficient 
evidence  for  the  existence  of  cards 
before  the  accession  of  Charles  VI. 


i  be  proved  that  the  page  did  not 
survive  his  master ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  he  did,  they  may  be 
equally  applied  to  the  amusements 
of  the  succeeding  reign. 

A  prohibitory  edict  against  the 
usage  of  cards  was  made  in  Spain 
considerably  anterior  to  any  that 
have  been  produced  in  France*; 
which  has  inclined  several  modern 
writers  upon  this  subject  to  refer 
the  invention  of  cards  from  France 
to  Spain;  and  the  names  of  some 
of  the  cards,  as  well  as  many  of  the 
most  ancient  games,  being  evi- 
dently derived  from  the  Spanish 
languagef,  are  justly  considered 

*  In  Spain,  as  early  as  A.  D.  1332, 
John  I.  King  of  Castile,  in  an  edict  dated 
A.  D.  13S7,  forbade  playing  of  cards  and 
dice  in  his  dominions.  The  provost  of 
Paris,  Jan.  22,  1397,  published  an  or- 
dinance prohibiting  the  manufacturing 
part  of  the  people  from  playing  at  ten- 
nis, dice,  cards,  Sec. — Bullet,  p.  18;  see 
also  Mr.  Cough's  Dissertation  upon  Card- 
playing,  Ai  clueologia,  vol.  viii.  p.  152 
et  seq. 

f  As  primero  and  the  principal  card 
in  the  game  quinola,  ombre,  and  the 
cards  spiv.lili,  inanill,  basto,  punto,  ma- 
tador, quadriile,  a  species  of  ombre, 
&c.  The  suit  of  clubs  upon  the  Spanish 
cards  is  not  the  trefoils  as  with  us,  but 
positively  clubs  or  cudgels,  of  which  we 
retain  the  name,  though  we  have  lost  the 
figures :  the  original  name  is  bastos.  The 
spades  are  swords,  called  in  Spain  espa- 
dos:  in  this  instance  we  retain  the  name 
and  some  faint  resemblance  of  the  figure. 
— See  the  Dissertation  upon  Card  -playing 
by  the  Hon.  Daines  Barrington,  Ar- 
chceologia,  vol.  viii.  p.  135  et  seq. 


Tllli   ANTIQUITY    AND    VSIL   01'  PLAYING-CARDS. 


251 


as  strong  corroborating  arguments 
in  favour  of  such  an  opinion. 

A  very  intelligent  writer*  upon 
the  origin  of  engraving  asserts, 
that  playing-cards  were  invented 
in  Germany,  where  they  were  used 
towards  the  latter  end  of  the  four- 
teenth century;  but  his  reasons 
are  by  no  means  conclusive.  An 
author  of  our  own  country  produ- 
ces a  passage  cited  from  a  ward- 
robe computus,  made  in  the  sixth 
year  of  Edward  I.  which  mentions 
a  game  entitled  "  the  four  kings  ;" 
and  hence,  with  some  degree  of 
probability,  lie  conjectures  that 
the  \ise  of  playing-cards  was  then  j 
known  in  England,  which  is  a  j 
much  earlier  period  than  any  that 
has  been  assigned  by  the  foreign  j 
authors.  It  is  the  opinion  of  seve- 
ral learned  writers,  well  acquaint- 
ed with  Asiatic  history,  that  cards 
were  used  in  the  Eastern  parts  of 
the  world  long  before  they  found 
their  way  into  Europef.  If  this 
position  be  granted,  when  we  re- 
collect that  Edward  I.  before  his 
accession  to  the  throne,  resided 
nearly  five  years  in  Syria,  it  will 
be  natural  enough  to  suppose  that 
he  might  have  learned  the  game  of 
"  the  four  kings"  in  that  country, 
and  introduced  it  at  court  upon  his 
return  to  England.  An  objection, 
which  indeed  at  first  sight  seems 
to   be  a   very  powerful   one,  has 

*  Baron  Heineken,  who  says  that 
they  were  known  there  as  early  as  the 
year  137S. — Idee  generate  d' une  Collec- 
tion des  Estampes,  pp.  237,  249. 

f  Warton  says  it  seems  probable  that 
the  Arabians  were  the  inventors  of  cards, 
which  they  communicated  to  the  Con- 
stantinopolitan  Greeks — Hist.  Eng.  Po- 
etry, vol.  ii.  p.  310.  Indeed  it  is  very 
Jikely  they  were  brought  into  the  west-  | 
ern  parts  of  Europe  during  the  Crusades. 


heen  raised  in  opposition  to  this 
conjecture:  it  is  founded  upon  the 
total  silence  of  every  kind  of  au- 
thority respecting  the  subject  of 
card-playing,  from  the  time  that 
the  above  -  mentioned  entry  was 
made  to  an  early  period  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  IV.*  including 
an  interval  of  one  hundred  and 
eighty-six  years.  An  omission  so 
general  it  is  thought  could  not 
have  taken  place,  if  the  words 
contained  in  that  record  alluded 
to  the  usage  of  playing-cards.  A 
game  introduced  by  a  monarch 
could  not  fail  of  becoming  fashion- 
able ;  and  if  it  continued  to  be 
practised  in  after-times,  must  in 
all  probability  have  heen  mention- 
ed occasionally  in  conjunction  with 
the  other  pastimes  then  prevalent. 
But  this  silence  is  by  no  means 
a  positive  proof  that  the  game  of 
"  the  four  kings1'  was  not  played 
with  cards,  nor  that  cards  did  not 
continue  to  he  used  during  the 
whole  of  the  above-mentioned  in- 
terval in  the  higher  circles,  though 
not  perhaps  with  such  abuses  as 
were  afterwards  practised,  and 
which  excited  the  reprehension  of 
the  moral  and  religious  writers. 
Besides,  at  the  time  that  cards 
were  first  introduced,  they  were 
drawn  and  painted  by  the  hand, 
without  the  assistance  of  a  stamp 
or  plate:  it  follows  of  course,  that 
much  time  was  required  to  com- 
plete a  set  or  pack  of  cards;  the 
price  they  bore  no  doubt  was  ade- 
quate to  the  labour  bestowed  upon 
them,  which  necessarily  must  have 
enhanced  their  value  beyond  the 
purchase  of  the  under  classes  of 
the  people  ;  and  for  this  reason  it 
is,  1  presume,  that  card-  play  in  g, 
though  it  might  have  been  known 
*  A.  D.  L48t. 


252 


THK   ANTIQUITY  AND    VSR   OF  PLAYING-CARDS. 


in  England,  was  not  much  prac- 
tised until  such  time  as  inferior 
sets  of  cards,  proportionally  cheap, 
were  produced  for  the  use  of  the 
commonalty,  which  seems  to  have 
been  the  case  when  Edward  IV. 
ascended  the  throne;  for  earl}'  in 
his  reign  an  act  was  established, 
prohibiting  the  importation  of 
playing-cards;  and  soon  after  that 
period,  card -playing  became  a 
very  general  pastime. 

The  increasing  demand  for  these 
objects  of  amusement,  it  is  said, 
suggested  the  idea  of  cutting  the 
outlines  appropriated  to  the  differ- 
ent suits  upon  separate  blocks  of 
wood,  and  stamping  them  upon 
the  cards*;  the  intermediate  spaces 
between  the  outlines  were  filled  up 
with  various  colours  laid  on  by  the 
band.  This  expeditious  method 
of  producing  cards  reduced  the 
price  of  them,  so  that  they  might 
readily  be  purchased  by  almost 
every  class  of  persons.  The  com- 
mon usage  of  cards  was  soon  pro- 
ductive of  serious  evils,  which  all 
the  exertions  of  the  legislative 
power  have  not  been  able  to  era- 
dicate. 

Another  argument  against  the 
great  antiquity  of  playing-cards  is 
drawn  from  the  want  of  paper  pro- 
per for  their  fabrication.  We  cer- 
tainly have  no  reason  to  believe 
that  paper  made  of  linen  rags  was 
produced  in  Europe  before  the 
middle  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
and  even  then  the  art  of  paper-ma- 
king does  not  appear  to  have  been 
carried  to  any  great  perfection.    It 

*  And  hence  originated  the  noble  and 
beneficial  art  of  printing.  These  print- 
ing blocks  are  traced  back  to  the  year 
1  i-2.'J,  and  probably  were  produced  at  a 
much  earlier  period. — Idee  generate  (Tune 
tiqUmttm  d?s  Mttnmpcs  ut  vp. 


is  also  granted  that  paper  is  the 
most  proper  material  we  know  of 
for  the  manufacturing  of  cards; 
butitwill  not  therefore  follow,  that 
they  could  not  possibly  be  made 
with  an}-  other  ;  and  if  we  admit  of 
any  other,  the  objection  will  fall  to 
the  ground. 

Card-playing  appears  to  have 
been  a  very  fashionable  court  a- 
musement  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
VII.  In  an  account  of  money  dis- 
bursed for  the  use  of  that  monarch, 
an  entry  is  made  of  one  hundred 
shillings  paid  at  one  time  to  him 
for  the  purpose  of  playing  at  cards. 
The  Princess  Margaret  his  daugh- 
ter, previous  to  her  marriage  with 
James  IV.  King  of  Scotland,  un- 
derstood the  use  of  cards* ;  and 
Catherine  of  Spain,  the  consort  of 
Prince  Arthur,  afterwards  married 
to  Henry  VIII.  his  brother,  is  said 
in  her  youth  to  have  been  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  art  of  embroide- 
ry and  other  works  of  the  needle 
proper  for  ladies  to  know;  and  also 
that  she  was  expert  in  various 
courtly  pastimes,  and  could  play 
at  M  tables,  tick-tacke  or  gleeke, 
with  cardis  and  dyce." 

The  universality  of  card-playing 
in  the  reign  of  this  monarch  is 
evident  from  a  prohibitory  sta- 
tute being  necessary  to  prevent  ap- 
prentices from  using  cards,  except 
in  the  Christmas  holidays,  and 
then  only  in  their  masters'  housesf. 

*  She  played  with  her  intended  hus- 
band at  Harbottle  Castle:  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  nuptials  took  place  A.  D.  1503, 
she  being  only  fourteen  years  of  age. — 
Addil. /oLeland's  Collect,  vol.  iii.  p. 285. 

f  The  same  statute  forbade  any  house- 
holder to  permit  card-playing  in  his 
house,  under  the  penalty  of  six  shillings 
and  eight  pence  for  every  offence. — Sttit. 
amo  1 1  Hen.  VII.  cap.  2. 


PARISIAN   SKETCHES. 


253 


Agreeably  to  this  privilege,  Stow, 
speaking  of  the  customs  of  London, 
says,  "  Prom  All-Hallows  eve  to 
the  day  following  Candlemas-day, 
there  was,  among  other  sports, 
playing  at  cards  for  counters,  nails, 
and  points,  in  every  house,  more  for 
pastime  than  for  gain."  But  this 
moderation,  I  apprehend,  was  by 
no  means  general;  for  several 
contemporary  writers  are  exceed- 
ingly severe  in  their  reflections  on 
the  usage  of  cards,  which  they 
rank  with  dice,  and  consider  both 
as  destructive  to  morality  and  good^ 
order. 

Henry  VIII.  preferred  the  sports 
of  the  field,  and  such  pastimes  as 
promoted  exercise,  to  sedentary 
amusements;  his attachmentto dice 
he  gave  up  at  an  early  part  of  his 
life  ;  and  I  do  not  recollect  that 
Hall  the  historian,  who  is  so  minute 
in  describing  the  various  sources 
of  entertainment  pursued  by  this 
athletic  monarch,  ever  mentions 
cards  as  one  of  them.  I  am  indeed 
well  aware  that  Shakspeare  speaks 
of  his  "  playing  at  primero  with 
the  Duke  of  .Suffolk,"  and  it  is  very 
possible  that  the  poet  might  have 
had  some  authority  for  so  doing. 
Sir  William  Forrest,  who  wrote  at 
the  close  of  Henry  VIII.'s  reign, 
and  presented  a  poetical  treatise, 
entitled  "The  Poesye  of  Princylye 
Practice,"  to  his  son  Edward  VI. 
speaks  therein  of  the  pastimes  pro- 
per for  a  monarch,  and  says  he  may 


after  dinner  amuse  himself  with 
music,  or  otherwise 

Att  tables,  ohesso,  or  carclis  awhile  liiinsclfe 
repose : 

but  adds,  that "  syttynge  pastymes 
are  seldom  found  good,  especially 
in  the  daytime;"  he  therefore  ad- 
vises the  pursuit  of  those  that  af- 
forded both  air  and  exercise.  In 
another  part  of  his  poem,  he  speaks 
in  strong  terms  against  the  prac- 
tice of  card-playing,  as  productive 
of  idleness,  especially  when  it  is 
followed  by  the  labouring  people 
in  places  of  common  resort : 

Att  alehowse  too  sit,  at  mack  or  at  mall, 
Tables  or  dyee,  or  that  cardis  men  call, 
Or  what  oother  game  owte  of  season  dwe, 
Let  them  be  punysched  without  all  rescue. 

And  the  author  of  an  old  Mora- 
lity, entitled  "  Hycke  Scorner," 
written  probably  some  time  before 
this  poem  by  Forrest,  has  placed 
the  card-players  with  such  compa- 
ny as  evinces  he  had  not  a  good 
opinion  of  their  morals  : 

Walkers  by  nyght  with  grct  murderer?, 
Overthwarte  with  gyle  and  joly  carders. 

It  is  not,  however,  necessary  to  pro- 
duce any  further  evidence  from 
the  writers  of  former  times,  to  prove 
the  evil  tendency  of  card-playing 
when  it  is  indulged  beyond  the 
limits  of  discretion  ;  for  many  in- 
stances of  ruin  and  destruction 
may  be  brought  forward  in  the  pre- 
sent day,  to  convince  us  of  the  just- 
ness of  their  censures. 

(To  be  continued.) 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES. 

No.  XII. 

THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  ROCH. 

Ne  vous  fiez  pas  a.  ce  vain  simulacre  de  piete. — St.  Ch. 


Thk  ballet  of  Psyche  had  just 
finished,  and  the  opera-house  was 
rapidly    clearing. 


house  with  the  crowd,  I  found  my- 
self just  behind  an  old  colonel  of 


Leaving    the  !  the  guards,  on  whose  arm  a  ^ery 


254 


PARISIAN   SKETCHKSi 


pretty  and  interesting  young  wo- 
man was  leaning.  I  had  alread}- 
observed  her  during  the  opera  in 
the  stage-box  of  the  first  circle  with 
the  colonel  her  husband,  and  had 
watched  her  directing  her  opera- 
glass  nearly  the  whole  time,  and 
particularly  when  the  attention  of 
her  neighbour  appeared  more  than 
usually  arrested  by  what  was  going 
forward  on  the  stage,  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  orchestra  on  the  king's 
side.  Just  at  that  spot  one  of 
Marshal  R — 's aides-de-camp  was 
seated,  who,  by  a  singular  chance, 
kept  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  box 
in  which  were  the  old  colonel  and 
his  lady,  and  only  looked  at  the 
ballet  when  the  former  ceased  to 
be  interested  in  it.  This  little 
manoeuvre  had  attracted  my  atten- 
tion, diverted  the  enniti  with  which 
I  am  so  tasteless  as  to  be  attacked 
during  the  opera,  and,  almost  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  feared 
the  performance  would  be  over  too 
soon. 

As  we  came  out  into  the  street,  I 
perceived  my  young  aide-de-camp 
leaning  carelessly  against  one  of 
the  pillars  of  the  colonnade.  The 
lady,  doubtless  much  incommoded 
by  the  crowd,  took  a  circuit  to 
avoid  the  pressure,  which  led  her 
near  the  aforesaid  colonnade;  and 
probably  without  the  least  design, 
said, with  apparent  nonchalance,  but 
in  a  tone  sufficiently  loud  to  be 
heard  by  all  the  bystanders:  — 
"  They  say  we  shall  have  a  very 
splendid  mass  to-morrow  at  the 
church  of  St.  Roch."  — "  Very 
possibly,"  replied  thecolonel;"but 
I  shall  be  on  duty  at  the  Thuille- 
ries,  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  de- 
tained there  all  day." — "  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  go  by  myself  then," 


said  she,  in  a  tone  intended  to 
reach  the  ears  of  one  person  only, 
who  at  that  moment  was  close  at 
her  side. 

What  an  extraordinary  effect  the 
most  indifferent  word  has  from  the 
lips  of  a  lovely  woman  !  This  short 
sentence  altered  all  my  plans  for 
the  next  day.  I  say  nothing  of 
the  effect  it  produced  on  our  young 
aide-de-camp,  but  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  thanked  her  with  his  eyes, 

i  I  concluded  that  our  young  soldier 
intended  to  edify  her  by  his  devo- 
tion. 

The  church  of  St.  Roch  is  one 
of  the  largest  and  most  magnifi- 
cent edifices  in  the  capital.  At  a 
period  when  building  was  carried 

j  on  but  slowly,  yet,  perhaps  from 
that  very  circumstance,  with  more 
strength  and  solidity,  above  a  cen- 
tury was  employed  to  erect  this 
church.  Begun  in  1636,  it  was 
not  completed  until  1739.  Within 
its  holy  walls  repose  some  of  the 
greatest  men  of  whom  France  can 
boast.  Corneille,  Le  Notre,  Mau- 
pertuis,  are  interred  by  the  side  of 
Count  Rantzaw,  Marshal  Asfeldt, 
and  the  Princess  of  Conti,  the 
daughter  of  a  monarch  whose  glo- 
ry has  thrown  a  lustre  even  over 
ids  vices.  This  ridiculous  and 
dangerous  custom  of  rendering  our 
churches  habitations  for  the  dead 
has  long  prevailed  in  France.  Pride 
and  avarice  have  alike  contributed 
to  preserve  it.  The  barren  honour 
of  laying  their  bones  in  the  house 
of  the  Lord  was  purchasable  with 
gold,  and  in  the  same  temple  where 
the  priest  endeavours  to  soften  our 
hearts  by  the  sublimest  pictures  of 
the  humility  and  modest  virtues 
most  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God, 
our  eyes  are  attracted  by  the  glit- 


PARISIAN  SKETCHES. 


2*. 


i)j 


tering  trophies  of  human  vanity, 
hy  the  false  praise  inscribed  on 
the  tomb  of  the  proud,  the  magni- 
ficence of  which  seems  to  insult 
the  simplicity  of  the  altar. 

Fearful  lest  the  two  young  ob- 
jects of  my  curiosity  might  reach 
the  church  before  me,  I  took  care 
to  be  there  early.  I  stopped  for  a 
minute  before  the  porch,  the  walls 
of  which  were  covered  with  a  mul- 
titude of  bills,  the  indecorous  va- 
riety of  which  displeased  me.  The 
notice  of  a  religious  procession 
was  stuck  by  the  side  of  the  puff 
of  a  vender  of  eau  de  Cologne. 
The  annunciation  of  a  festival  was 
placed  beneath  a  prospectus  of 
Voltaire's  works,  to  be  published  in 
fiftv  volumes.  Nothing  was  want- 
ing  to  complete  this  strange  amal- 
gamation but  play- bills,  which 
were  indeed  posted  at  not  ten  yards 
distance. 

There  are  two  periods  of  life  at 
which  our  minds  are  most  accessi- 
ble to  religious  impressions.  The 
child  offers  up  its  innocent  vows 
to  the  Almighty,  and  recommends  I 
itself  to  the  care  of  Providence,  j 
With  timid  piety,  it  dares  under-  j 
take  nothing  without  first  implor-  j 
ing  the  protection  of  Heaven,  to 
whose  benign  influence  its  young 
heart  attributes  every  joy,  every 
blessing.  The  man  past  the  en- 
joyment of  life,  who  has  been  fa- 
tally convinced  of  the  illusion  of 
all  his  schemes  of  felicity,  takes 
refuge  in  religion  as  his  only  re- 
maining and  possibly  only  untried 
solace,  and  finds  in  its  hoi}*  conso- 
lations the  sole  resting-place  for 
happiness  on  this  side  the  grave, 
because  it  alone  offers  to  his  view 
a  prospect  of  eternal  felicity  be- 
yond. 


Divine  service  was  not  yet  be- 
gun ;  the  number  of  the  pious  au- 
ditory was  very  inconsiderable,  and 
with  their  eyes  fixed  ou  their  books, 
they  appeared  preparing  them- 
selves to  address  the  Deity.  I 
must  except,  however,  one  young 
man,  who  was  leaning  against  a 
pillar  with  his  back  to  the  grand 
altar,  and  observing  with  consi- 
derable impatience  every  one  who 
came  in  at  the  door.  Every  body 
does  not  go  to  church  to  join  in 
the  service;  and  besides,  there  are 
many  persons  who  do  not  love  to 
pray  alone. 

The  beadle,  whom  I  had  left  out- 
side the  door,  now  re-entered. 
He  was  expecting  a  wedding,  when 
an  infant  was  brought  in  to  be  bap- 
tized. Nothing  is  certain  in  this 
world.  I  learned  from  him,  that 
the  little  stranger  was  the  son  of  a 
merchant  in  the  rue  St.  Honore, 
who  had  married  the  preceding 
year  a  wealthy  widow  from  )a  rue 
des  Boucheries;  that  they  lived  on 
most  excellent  terms  with  one  an- 
other, notwithstanding  some  seri- 
ous disputes  just  at  the  close  of 
the  honeymoon.  The  young  man 
whom  I  had  observed  leaning 
against  the  pillar  approached,  and 
appeared  to  listen  attentively  to 
our  conversation,  in  which  he  soon 
joined  ;  added  his  praises  to  those 
which  the  beadle  was  liberally  be- 
stowing on  the  mother,  inquired 
after  her  health  with  an  air  of  in- 
terest, and  begged  to  know  from 
one  of  the  godfathers  what  were 
to  be  the  christian  names  of  the 
child.  Having  been  informed  that, 
by  the  express  desire  of  the  mo- 
ther, it  was  to  be  named  Louis 
Emile,  he  left  the  church,  bidding 
us  adieu  with  an  emotion,  which  it 


256 


PARISIAN   SKETCHES. 


appeared  strange  should  be  caused 
by  so  uninteresting  a  circumstance. 
The  baptism  was  half  over  when 
the  sexton  was  called  away  by  a 
lady  who  had  been  bargaining  with 
him  for  a  funeral  in  the  morning, 
but  could  not  agree  about  the 
charge.  She  had  come  back  to 
make  fresh  offers,  but  the  sexton 
would  not  abate  a  sous.  He  told 
her  it  was  entirely  at  her  own  op- 
tion to  accept  or  reject  his  terms; 
entered  into  a  long  detail  of  every- 
thing indispensably  necessary  to 
give  eclat  to  the  ceremony,  and 
impress  the  world  with  an  advan- 
tageous opinion  of  the  heirs  of  the 
deceased.  His  observations  were 
full  of  sense  and  reason  ;  his 
charges  alone  grieved  the  good 
lady,  who  could  not  bear  to  pay 
so  dear  for  the  interment  of  a  man 
whom  she  had  hated  during  his  life. 
She  resisted  his  arguments  with  all 
her  might,  and  possibly  would  have 
finally  refused  to  make  such  a  sa- 
crifice, if  some  one  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, perceiving  her,  had  not 
hastened  to  condole  with  her  on 
the  melancholy  event  which  had 
doubled  her  small  fortune,  and  beg 
her  to  moderate  the  grief  she  ap- 
peared to  feel  for  the  irreparable 
loss  of  her  cousin.  The  fear  of 
losing  her  reputation  for  sensibili- 
ty, and  the  favourable  opportunity 
for  display  which  now  presented 
itself,  prevailed  over  her  more  eco- 
nomical feelings;  and  the  sexton 
perceiving  the  sudden  change,  re- 
collected some  few  things  of  tri- 
fling cost,  which,  for  the  sake  of 
regularity,  he  now  added  to  the 
former  items.  The  good  lady- 
squeezed  out  a  tear  or  two,  and 
recommending  the  sexton  to  be 
punctual    to  one  o'clock,  and   to 


shorten  the  melancholy  service  as 
much  as  possible,  quitted  the 
church  with  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes. 

At  this  moment  a  considerable 
bustle  was  apparent  in  the  church  ; 
every  body  crowded  towards  St. 
Anne's  chapel,  where  one  of  the 
young  choristers  was  lighting  two 
large  wax  tapers,  and  arranging 
the  chairs,  as  if  for  some  import- 
ant ceremony.  As  soon  as  a  lane 
could  be  formed  through  the  crowd, 
a  man,apparently  nearly  forty  years 
of  age,  approached  the  altar;  his 
grave  physiognomy  seemed  to  de- 
note settled  apathy;  light  bushy 
eyebrows  entirety  screened  the  ex- 
pression of  his  eyes,  and  gave  to 
his  countenance  a  cast  of  suspi- 
cion and  reserve ;  and  his  coat, 
closely  buttoned  round  him,  dis- 
played a  form  at  once  sturdy  and 
awkward.  In  a  few  minutes  this 
man  was  to  be  the  husband  of  a 
sweet-looking  girl  scarcely  nine- 
teen, whose  blooming  complexion 
betokened  health,  and  whose  eyes, 
full  of  sprightliness  and  vivacity, 
betrayed  the  innocence  of  her 
heart,  and  the  timid  fears  which 
agitated  her  mind.  An  elderly 
female  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  bridegroom,  raising  herself 
every  moment  on  tiptoe,  in  order 
to  whisper  into  his  ear:  by  the  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance,  it 
was  easy  to  perceive  the  mother  of 
the  bride  imploring  him  not  to 
neglect  her  daughter's  happiness,  a 
task  apparently  not  more  difficult 
than  delightful. 

The  priest  not  being  yet  arrived, 
they  sat  down  in  the  little  chapel. 
Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  young 
bride,  whom  her  mother  repeated- 
ly embraced  with  the  greatest  ten- 


IV.UISIAN    SK!iTCJ4U*. 


457 


derness.  The  bridegroom  kept 
pla\  ing  with  his  gloves,  every  now 
and  then  carelessly  addressing  a 
few  words  to  his  intended,  whose 
orange-flower  nosegay  was  in  one 
perpetual  agitation.  Thestanders- 
b}'  were  forming  various  conjec- 
tures on  the  causes  which  could 
have  brought  together  two  persons 
apparently  of  such  opposite  cha- 
racters. One  fancied  the  poor  girl 
a  victim  to  parental  ambition;  an- 
other asserted  that  the  magic  of 
wealth  had  worked  the  charm.  1 
was  much  pleased  with  a  middle- 
aged  woman  who  ventured  to  dis- 
pute the  judgment  of  the  sur- 
rounding critics,  and  acknowledg- 
ed that  she  owed  the  happiness  of 
her  life  to  a  husband,  who,  under 
a  forbidding  exterior,  possessed 
the  most  amiable  qualities,  and 
united  the  graces  of  wit  and  learn- 
ing to  the  virtue  which  renders 
them  engaging  and  elevating.  She 
reminded  me  of  that  excellent  say- 
ing of  Madame  Pauline  B**:  "Mere 
beauty  may  attract  desire,  but  can 
never  inspire  love." 

At  last  the  priest  arrived  ;  he  was 
preceded  by  a  little  clerk  about 
fifty  years  of  age,  in  a  bob  wig  and 
a  grej?  loose  coat,  who  made  the 
responses  with  that  kind  of  apathy 
which  is  acquired  by  long  habit, 
his  meagre  figure  forming  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  venerable  and 
dignified  air  of  the  clergyman. 
When  the  question  was  put  to  the 
parties,  whether  they  would  pro- 
mise always  to  promote  the  happi- 
ness of  each  other,  I  heard,  almost 
close  to  my  ear,  a  sweet  voice,  which 
repeated  with  fervour  the  "  Qui" 
of  the  bride.  1  turned  round,  and 
saw  the  lady  of  the  opera.  She 
blushed  at  recognising  me,  and 
I  ol.X.  No.LlX. 


drew  her  veil  hastily  over  her  face. 
Not  vvishing  to  augment  her  embar- 
rassment, I  immediately  resumed 
my  former  position. 

Following  the  new-married  cou- 
pie  to  the  sacristy,  1  observed  with 
pleasure  that  the  bride  had  ac- 
quired more  self-possession,  and 
that  her  husband's  attentions  be- 
came more  marked,  betokening  at 
once  tenderness  and  gratitude. 

On  mv  return,  I  sought  in  vain 
for  the  person  who  had  first  inspir- 
ed me  with  the  idea  of  taking  my 
station  in  the  church  of  St.  Koch  ; 
she  had  disappeared,  and  but  very 
few  persons  remained  behind : 
among  these  I  observed  an  old  in- 
valid  soldier  kneeling  before  the 
chapel  of  the  Crucifixion,  offering 
to  his  Maker  the  remnant  of  a  life 
long  devoted  to  the  service  of  his 
country  ;  a  blind  lady  listening  to 
a  little  girl  of  nine  years  old,  who 
was  reading  aloud  the  daily  service, 
and  not  understanding  what  she 
read,  amused  herself  by  occasion- 
ally skipping  a  line  or  two  ;  and  a 
young  woman  weeping  before  the 
image  of  the  Virgin,  and  distri- 
buting the  contents  of  her  purse 
among  some  of  those  artful  beg- 
gars who  speculate  on  piety. 

At  the  moment  when  the  wed- 
ding train  was  leaving  the  church, 
a  funeral  entered:  those  who  at- 
tended as  mourners  did  not  appear 
much  absorbed  in  grief,  and  the 
bridal  party  were  not  particularly 
gay;  nothing  striking  therefore 
offered  itself  in  the  contrast.  Mere 
spectators,  we  seldom  attach  much 
importance  to  those  vicissitudes  of 
life  in  which  we  ourselves  are  not 
interested. 

For    my   own   part,    persuaded 
that  I   have  only  a9  yet  drawn  a 
M  M 


258 


SAM   SI'INIJRAIN'S   LETTER   TO    THE    KDITOR. 


nuigh  sketch  of  the  observations 
to  which  a  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  churches  of  this  me- 


tropolis may  give  rise,  I  resolved 
to  take  an  early  opportunity  of 
visiting  more  of  them. 


SAM  SPINBRAIN'S  LETTER  TO  THE  EDITOR. 


I  am  an  unfortunate  dog,  Mr. 
Editor,  who  have  lately  lost  every 
comfort  in  life  by  coming  into  pos- 
session of  a  large  fortune,  and  if 
you  don't  stand  my  friend,  I  really 
believe  I  shall  hang  myself  for 
mere  want  of  something  to  do. 
But,  in  order  to  explain  to  you 
clearly  how  you  may  serve  me,  you 
must  allow  me  to  relate  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  case.  Don'tbe 
afraid,  sir,  I  shall  not  bore  you 
with  a  long  story,  for  I  never  had 
patience  to  write  or  tell  one  in  my 
life  ;  and  whatever  other  faults  vou 
may  find  with  the  recital  of  my 
adventures,  I  promise  you  you 
shall  not  have  the  want  of  brevity 
to  complain  of. 

I  was  the  only  son  of  a  respect- 
able tradesman,  and  from  the  fa- 
cility with  which  I  learned  to  dis- 
tinguish my  ABC  in  ginger- 
bread, my  father  was  sure  I  should 
turn  out  a  genius;  he  determined 
accordingly  to  give  me  a  good  edu- 
cation, but  unfortunately  he  pla- 
ced me  under  the  care  of  a  me- 
thodical blockhead,  who  insisted 
upon  lashing  me  regularly  through 
the  Latin  grammar.  Now,  sir, 
grammars  of  all  kinds  were  al- 
ways my  abomination,  and  I  had 
likewise  an  insuperable  dislike  to 
being  dogged  :  from  these  united 
causes  I  did  so  little  good  at  school, 
and  ran  away  so  often  from  it,  that 
my  father's  patience  was  at  last 
worn  out,  and  when  I  was  just 
turned  of  sixteen,  he  declared  that 
he    gave  up  all   thoughts  of  ever 


making  any  thing  of  me,  and  that 
he  should  apprentice  me  to  a 
cheesemonger ;  and  having  been 
some  time  a  widower,  he  married 
again  in  his  sixtieth  year,  in  hopes, 
as  he  said,  of  having  dutiful  chil- 
dren to  comfort  his  old  age. 

His  marriage  gave  me  little  con- 
cern, but  the  thought  of  being  a 
cheesemonger  weighed  very  heavy 
on  my  aspiring  mind.  A  few  vo- 
lumes of  modern  philosophy,  which 
had  fallen  into  my  hands,  inspired 
me  with  an  ardent  desire  to  pro- 
mote the  happiness  of  my  species  ; 
but  I  could  not  conceive,  for  the 
soul  of  me,  in  what  way  my  being 
a  cheesemonger  could  conduce  to 
the  general  good.  I  tried  to  argue 
the  matter  with  my  father,  but  find- 
ing that  the  only  effect  mj*  reason- 
ing produced  was  to  make  him 
shake  his  head,  and  drop  some 
hints  about  Bethlem  being  the  fit- 
test place  for  me,  I  gave  up  the 
task  of  convincing  him  in  despair; 
and  resolving  to  trust  for  subsist- 
ence to  my  own  energies,  I  de- 
camped from  school,  and  joined  a 
company  of  strolling  players,  in 
the  triple  capacity  of  bill-sticker, 
call-boy,  and  candle-snuffer. 

Don't  suppose,  Mr.  Editor,  that 
in  thus  making  my  debut  upon  the 
great  stage  of  the  world,  I  meant 
to  confine  myself  to  subordinate 
characters;  no,  sir,  my  ambition 
was 

"  To  hold  the  mirror  up  to  Nature,"- 

and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  vi- 
vacity of  my  genius,  I  should  have 


SAM  spinbrain's  lkttbu  to  thr  rditor. 


urn 


completely  succeeded  ;  but  as  my 
ill  stars  would  have  it,  when  I  was 
entrusted  with  a  character,  I  never 
had  patience  to  study  it:  this  would 
not  have  been  of  any  consequence 
if  I  had  been  allowed  to  manage 
matters  my  own  way,  for  I  was  quite 
free  from  muuvaisehonte,  and  should 
have  dashed  on  well  enough,  but 
¥  Knvy  will  merit  like*  its  shade  pursue." 
My  brother  and  sister  performers 
filtered  a  protest  in  form  against 
playing  with  me,  because  I  never 
gave  them  a  cue,  and  I  was  obliged, 
willy-nilly,  to 

"  1* id  u  long  farewell  to  all   my  greatness;" 

lor  the  company  decamped  one 
night  without  beat  of  drum,  leav- 
ing me  in  arrears  with  my  land- 
lord five  shillings  and  nine-pence 
three  farthings;  which  sum,  and 
two-  pen ce  halfpenny  more,  was  due 
to  me  by  the  manager,  and  I  had 
got  his  order  upon  our  treasurer 
for  it  in  my  pocket.  I  presented 
the  draft  to  my  landlord,  who 
threw  it  into  mv  face,  and  swore 
we  were  all,  young  and  old,  a  pack 
of  cheating  villains  to«ether. 

"  Nay,"  cried  I,  "  hear  me  for 
my  cause ." — "  Look  ye,"  in- 
terrupted he,  "  fair  words  buttcr 
no  parsnips."  These  words,  and 
a  glance  at  his  figure,  which  wris 
the  very  thing  for  Lord  Duberly  in 
The  Heir  at  Law,  threw  me  into  a 
fit  of  laughter,  which  p-tit  him  in- 
to such  a  passion,  that  he  began 
thumping  me  without  mercy.  A 
good-natured  oilman, who  happen- 
ed to  be  passing  at  the  moment, 
rescued  me  from  Ins  clutches, and, 
on  hearing  my  story,  told  me,  that 
if  I  would  abandon  my  vagabond 
trade,  and  exert  myself  to  gain  a 
creditable  livelihood,  he  would 
take  me  for  an  errand-boy. 


Here  was  a  denouement,  Mr. 
Editor:  but  what  could  I  dor  The 
cries  of  hunger  were  imperative, 
for  it  was  already  breakfast-time, 
and  I  was  not  worth  a  ducat  in  the 
world.  "  I  see,"  cried  I  to  the 
oilman,  "  that  I  was  born  to  be  '  a 
mark  for  the  slings  and  arrows  of 
outrageous  fortune;'  so  lead  on,  I 
follow  thee."  He  muttered  some- 
thing about  his  fears  that  my  up- 
per story  was  a  little  out  of  repair, 
but:  that  at  least  he  would  try  me; 
and  he  took  me  home  to  his  house, 
where  I  must  confess,  that  with  re- 
spect to  the  vulgar  comforts  of  eat- 
ing, drinking,  and  sleeping,  mv 
situation  was  changed  for  the  bet- 
ter :  but  then,  sir,  there  was  no 
scope  at  all  for  my  mental  powers 
to  exert  themselves;  so,  to  keep 
them  from  rusting  in  idleness,  I 
attempted  to  initiate  one  of  my 
master's  apprentices  into  the  di- 
vine doctrines  of  the  new  philoso- 
phy :  but,  alas!  sir,  it  has  alwavs 
been  my  fate,  as  some  great  man 
or  other  says,  to  be  misconcei ved 
or  misconstrued  ;  for  the  stupid 
blockhead  told  my  master,  that  I 
wanted  to  make  a  rogue  of  him, 
because  I  endeavoured  to  make 
him  comprehend  that  common  ho- 
nesty was  a  vulgar  prejudice. 

This  misconception  lost  me  at 
once  my  place  and  my  character; 
but  the  want  of  the  latter  did  not 
prevent  Mr.  Litigamus,  the  attor- 
ney, from  taking  me  into  his  ser- 
vice, and  as  I  wrote  a  toier 
hand,  he  employed  me  to  copy  for 
him.  This  occupation  was  more 
genteel,  but  ten  times  more  labo- 
rious than  that  of  my  last  master, 
for  I  was  kept  drudging  at  the  desk 
from  morning  till  night.  At  last  I 
lost  my  situation,  through  my  mas- 
M  M  2 


260 


SAM   SPINBRAIN'S   LETTER   TO   THE    EDITOR. 


ter's  wanting  me  to  witness  the 
will  of  a  person  who  died  intes- 
tate. The  man  had  some  proper- 
ty, which  Mr.  Litigamus  desired 
to  possess ;  he  therefore  made  a 
will  in  his  own  favour,  and  offered 
me  fifty  pounds  to  sign  it.  I  shall 
never  forget  what  a  rage  he  was  in 
when  I  refused.  "  What,"  cried 
he,  "  after  being  turned  out  of 
your  last  place  because  you  want- 
ed to  corrupt  the  mind  of  an  in- 
nocent boy,  how  dare  you  pretend 
to  be  squeamish  about  a  thing  like 
this,  vou  impudent  hypocrite!" — 
"  Listen  to  me,"  cried  I;  "  I  want 
to  know  in  what  way  this  action  of 
ours  will  conduce  to  the  general 
good."--"  Cursethe  general  good," 
exclaimed  he;  "  it  will  be  for  my 
interest  and  yours  too,  and  that  is 
sufficient." — "  Not  quite,"  return- 
ed I;  "  for  as  I  do  not  know  the 
relatives  of  this  man,  I  can't  tell 
that  they  may  not  be  better  calcu- 
lated to  promote  the  cause  of  ge- 
neral utility  than  30U  are  ;  and  phi- 

losoph}-   teaches ."  —  "    Your 

philosophy  teaches  a  pack  of  curs- 
ed nonsense,"  cried  he  in  a  pet, 
"  since  it  only  makes  you  talk  like 
a  knave,  and  act  like  a  fool.  Why, 
I  should  never  have  been  troubled 
with  you  if  I  had  supposed  you 
were  such  a  hen-hearted  scoundrel. 
However,  there's  five  guineas;  get 
out  of  this  town  as  soon  as  you  can  ; 
I  have  no  more  occasion  for  you, 
and  hark  ye,  hold  vour  tongue  as 
you  value  vour  neck." 

I  had  sense  enough  to  follow  his 
advice,  and  with  this  mine  of 
wealth  in  my  pocket,  I  came  up  to 
London,  determined  to  turn  author, 
and  ';  draw  philosophy  from  hea- 
;  with  men,"  as  some- 
.-.    it  happened,  however, 


Mr.  Editor,  that  I  mistook  my  fovte; 
in  short,  sir,  nature  destined  me 
for  an  author  of  a  lighter  descrip- 
tion, but  I  did  not  find  that  out  till 
I  had  spent  my  five  guineas,  and 
written  an  essay  which  nobody 
would  buy.  I  had  by  that  time  ac- 
quired some  little  knowledge  of 
the  town,  and  my  wits  being  sharp- 
ened by  hunger,  I  determined  to 
make  a  general  attack  upon  the 
periodicals,  in  the  hope  that  if  I 
failed  with  one,  I  might  succeed 
with  another.  My  want  of  pa- 
tience, which  before  had  been  a 
constant  stumbling-block  in  my 
wav,  now  proved  of  some  service 
to  me;  for  as  my  articles  were  all 
short  ones,  the}-  were  readily  ac- 
cepted by  the  editors  to  whom  they 
were  addressed.  Don't  be  affront- 
ed, good  sir,  that  you  were  not  of 
the  number,  for  your  work  was  not 
then  in  being.  And  here  by  the 
way,  I  must,  injustice  to  my  form- 
er patrons,  declare  that  whatever 
may  be  said  against  editors,  I  al- 
ways found  them  a  very  worthy 
fraternity;  for  even  those  who  did 
not  choose  to  pay  for  my  articles, 
would  very  willingly  have  inserted 
them  for  nothing;  and  that  by  the 
bye  is  more  than  every  author  can 
say. 

Well,  sir,  what  with  light  and 
heavy  articles,  letters,  essays,  love 
stories,  politics,  Eastern  tales,  and 
theatricals,  I  managed  for  more 
than  twenty  years  to  get  a  dinner 
daily,  and  to  steer  clear  of  the  bai- 
liffs. Meanwhile  my  father  died, 
leaving  all  his  fortune  to  his  second 
wife.  I  applied  to  her,  but  she 
declared  her  conscience  would  not 
suffer  her  to  bestow  any  of  her 
dear  husband's  money  upon  a  son 
whom  he  had  disinherited.     As  my 


VOYAGRS  FOR  TJIK.  LUSCOVRRY  OF  A  NOHTH-WKSTEHN  PASSAGE.   26l 


hopes  were  not  very  sanguine,  I 
easily  consoled  myself,  and  thought 
no  more  of  the  widow  or  the  pro- 
perty ;  hut  as  the  deuce  would 
have  it,  she  died  a  short  time  ago, 
and  bequeathed  me  the  whole  of  it. 
For  the  first  month  afterwards  I 
was  in  Elysium;  I  was  so  fully  oc- 
cupied in  talking  about  my  good 
fortune,  and  treating  my  friends, 
that  I  had  not  a  spare  moment. 
But,  alas!  this  happiness  soon  va- 
nished ;  I  began  to  be  tired  of  talk- 
ing about  my  good  luck,  and  my 
friends  of  listening  to  me;  they 
returned  to  their  usual  avocations, 
and  as  I  could  not  return  to  mine, 
for  I  had  given  up  all  my  literary 
engagements,  I  tried  to  kill  time 
as  well  as  I  could  :  but  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  Mr.  Editor,  I  can't 
get  on  at  all;  ten  times  a  day  I 
catch  myself  exclaiming, 

"  How  weary,  stale,  flat,   and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world  !" 

While  I  was  up  to  my  eyes  in  busi- 
ness, no  man  enjoyed  an  hour's 
leisure  with  such  glee  as  I  did ;  but 
now  that  I  have  nothing  to  do  but 
amuse  myself,  I  find  that  every  en-  I 
joyment  palls  upon  me.     In  short, 


sir,  I  see  clearly  that  if  I  do  not 
resume  my  literary  labours,  I  shall 
die  either  of  ennui  or  a  pistol.  But 
how  to  resume  them,  there's  the 
rub,  Mr.  Editor :  I  have  been  so  long 
accustomed  to  write  for  so  much 
per  page,  that  I  really  believe,  if 
my  life  depended  upon  it,  I  could 
not  compose  six  lines  without  I 
was  sure  of  being  paid  for  it.  I 
am  ashamed  to  go  back  to  my  form- 
er employers,  because  I  should  be 
ridiculed  by  all  my  acquaintance 
for  a  shabby  fellow.  Will  you 
therefore,  Mr.  Editor,  in  common 
charity,  find  or  make  an  opening 
for  me  in  your  work?  Without  any 
offence  to  your  correspondents,  I 
believe  I  should  be  found  at  least 
as  useful  as  some  of  them  ;  and  if 
variety  be  your  object,  I  am  your 
man  ;  any  subject, or  every  subject, 
all  the  same  to  me, 

"  From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe." 

In  the  idea  that  my  services  will  be 
accepted,  I  shall  employ  myself 
in  preparing  some  half  a  score  ar- 
ticles against  next  month.  Adieu, 
sir!  Believe  me  very  devotedly 
your  servant  in  expectancy, 

Sam  Spinbrain. 


ON  THE  VOYAGES  FOR  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH- 
WESTERN PASSAGE. 

(Continued  from  p.  200.) 


No  farther  attempts  were  made 
for  some  time,  which  seems  to  have 
been  partly  owing  to  the  unfortu- 
nate issue  of  these  expeditions, 
and  partly  to  the  hope  which  open- 
ed of  achieving  a  passage  by  the 
north-west  of  America.  In  1580, 
however,  the  zeal  for  discovery 
was  again  excited,  and  a  new  ex- 
pedition was  fitted  out,  under  two 


commanders  of  the  name  of  Pet 
and  Jackman.  An  extraordinary 
zeal  was  again  excited,  and  a  series 
of  instructions  were  drawn  up  by 
Richard  Hackluyt,  Gerard  Merca- 
tor,  and  other  eminent  geogra- 
phers and  navigators.  Pet  and 
Jackman  succeeded  in  passing  No- 
va Zembla,  but  found  the  sea  then 
entirely    covered    with    icebergs, 


262    VOYAGES  I'Ofl  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  NORTH- WESTERN  PASSAGE 


through  which  they  worked  their 
way  with  the  utmost  difficulty. 
Their  great  object  every  day  was 
to  warp  from  one  piece  of  ice  to 
another,  and  then  strike  their  an- 
chors into  the  ice,  to  secure  them- 
selves for  the  night.  Sometimes 
they  made  their  way  through  when 
they  thought  it  "  a  thing  impossi- 
ble, but  extremity  doth  cause  men 
to  do  much."  At  length  finding, 
though  it  was  the  middle  of  June, 
"  3*et  winds  they  had  at  will,  but 
ice  and  fogs  too  much  against  their 
wills,"  also  V  great  store  of  snow;" 
in  short,  that  there  was  no  possibi- 
lity of  advancing  farther,  they  de- 
termined to  return  back,  and  ef- 
fected their  return  home  not  with- 
out some  difficulty,  and  it  was  the 
month  of  December  before  they 
arrived  in  sight  of  Buchanness. 

After  this  failure,  the  English 
nation  made  all  their  subsequent 
attempts  by  the  north-west.  Be- 
fore noticing  these  last,  however, 
it  may  be  proper  to  mention  seve- 
ral spirited  attempts  made  by  the 
Dutch  to  reach  the  East  Indies 
by  the  north  of  Asia.  These  were 
begun  in  1594  by  a  company  of 
merchants,  under  the  patronage 
of  the  stadtholder  and  states  gene- 
ral. The  expedition  consisted  of 
three  vessels,  fitted  out  from  Am- 
sterdam, Zealand,  and  Enchuy- 
sen,andwas  placed  under  the  com- 
mand of  William  Barentz.  They 
left  the  Texel  on  the  5th  June,  and 
nothing  remarkable  occurred  till 
they  found  themselves  upon  the 
coast  of  Nova  Zembla.  Here  they 
were  soon  surprised  b}'  a  sight  of 
the  walrus,  or  sea-horse.  These 
are  described  as  "  marine  monsters 
of  terrible  strength,  larger  than 
oxen,  and  having  their  skin  rough- 


er than  that  of  sea-dogs."  About 
this  time,  also,  the  first  encounter 
occurred  with  the  white  or  polar 
bear.  Having  seen  one  at  a  little 
distance,  the  crew  discharged  their 
muskets,  and  several  balls  took  ef- 
fect; but  as  the  wounds  were 
slight,  they  rowed  up  to  him,  and 
threw  a  noose  round  his  neck,  in- 
tending, apparently,  to  lead  him  to 
Holland  like  a  lap-dog,  and  ex- 
hibit him  to  their  countrymen. 
!  Bruin,  however,  who  did  not  ap- 
prove of  this  destination,  soon 
shewed  how  completely  they  bad 
mistaken  his  character.  At  one 
push  he  extricated  himself  from 
their  grasp,  then  applying  his  fore 
feet  to  the  stern,  placed  instantly 
one  half  of  his  body  in  the  boat. 
In  this  operation,  he  made  such 
displays  of  unparalleled  strength, 
and  uttered  such  frightful  cries,  as 
made  the  sailors  spring  to  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  vessel,  and  "  not 
a  man  expected  to  be  quit  for  less 
than  his  life."  Providentially, 
however,  as  the  bear  was  opening 
his  jaws  to  devour  the  nearest,  his 
feet  were  entangled  in  the  rope; 
the  boldest  of  the  crew  then  sprang 
forward,  and  pierced  him  with  a 
lance,  which  caused  him  to  fall 
back  into  the  water.  The  sailors 
then  dropping  their  plan  of  con- 
verting this  powerful  animal  into  a 
toy,  despatched  him  with  all  speed, 
and  thought  themselves  too  happy 
in  being  able  to  carry  his  skin  to 
Amsterdam. 

Barentz  now  proceeded,  and 
even  reached  latitude  77|  degrees, 
which  is  higher  than  the  northern 
extremity  of  Nova  Zembla;  but 
the  sea  here  presented  a  solid  sheet 
of  ice,  extending  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.     He  returned  there- 


LETTISH    1IIOM    JAMIS    IIOYVKL    TO    BSN    JONSON. 


203 


fore  to  the  coast,  ami  endeavoured 
to  double  its  northern  point;  Hare 
they  fell  in  with  theOrange  Islands, 
on  which  they  descried  two  hun- 
dred walrusscs  lying  on  the  sand, 
and  basking  themselves  in  the  sun. 
Imagining  these  creatures  to  be 
formidable  only  in  the  watery  ele- 
ment, they  determined  on  attack, 
but  they  had  ill  calculated  the 
prowess  with  which  they  had  to 
contend.  Not  only  were  they  com- 
pletely beaten  off,  but  all  the  sa- 
bres, pikes,  and  hatchets,  used  in 
the  assault,  were  broken  to  pieces. 
The  only  trophy  carried  away  was 
a  single  tooth  which  had  been 
broken  off  in  the  fury  of  the  com- 


bat. The  sailors  were  so  cruel lv 
mortified  by  this  discomfiture,  that 
they  determined  to  bring  up  can- 
non, and  open  a  battery  against 
their  amphibious  antagonists,  but 
the  rolling  of  the  sea  rendered  it 
impossible  to  execute  this  ma- 
noeuvre. 

Barentz  had  now  endured  seve- 
ral heavy  storms,  in  one  of  which 
the  boat  had  gone  to  pieces.  The 
ice  was  increasing;  the  vessel  had 
suffered  considerably,  and  even 
the  crew  shewed  an  indisposition 
to  proceed  farther.  In  these  cir- 
cumstances, there  appeared  to  him 
no  alternative  but  to  commence 
his  return  home. 


LETTER  FROM  JAMES  HOWEL  TO  BEN  JONSON. 


Thf-:  following  curious  letter  was 
written  by  the  celebrated  James 
Howel  to  Ben  Jonson,  as  a  sugges- 
tion for  the  plot  of  a  play  to  be 
written  by  the  latter: 

Father  Bkn, 

Being  lately  in  France,  and 
returning  in  a  coach  from  Paris  to 
Rouen,  I  lighted  upon  the  society 
of  a  learned  gentleman,  who  rela- 
ted unto  me  a  choice  story,  where- 
of peradventure  you  may  make 
some  use  in  your  way. 

Some  hundred  and  odd  .years 
since,there\vasin  France  one  Cap- 
tain Coney,  a  gallant  gentleman 
of  an  ancientextraction,  and  keep- 
er of  Coucy  castle,  which  is  yet 
standing,  and  in  good  repair.  He 
fell  in  love  with  a  young  gentle- 
woman, and    courted   her   for  his 


sieur  Faiel,  who  was  a  great  heir: 
Captain  Coucy  hereupon  quitted 
France  in  discontent,  and  went  to 
the  wars  in  Hungary  against  the 
Turks,  where  he  received  a  mortal 
wound  not  far  from  Buda.  Being 
carried  to  his  lodging,  he  lan- 
guished some  days,  but  a  little  be- 
fore his  death,  he  spoke  to  an  an- 
cient servant  of  his,  that  he  had 
many  proofs  of  his  fidelity  and 
truth,  but  now  he  had  a  great  bu- 
siness to  intrust  him  with,  which 
he  conjured  him  by  all  means  to 
do;  which  was,  that  after  his  death, 
he  should  get  his  body  to  be  open- 
ed, and  then  to  take  his  heart  out 
of  his  breast,  and  put  it  in  an 
earthen  pot  to  be  baked  to  powder, 
then  to  put  the  powder  into  a  hand- 
some box,  with  that  bracelet  of  hair 


wife  :  there  was  reciprocal  love  be- it  he  had  worn  long  about  his  left 
tween  them,  but  her  parents  un-  •'■  wrist,  which  was  a  lock  of  Ma- 
clerstandin/  of  it,  bv  way  of  pre-  !  dame  Faiel's  hair,  and  put  it 
v.-ntion  they  shuffled  up  a  forced  |  amongst  the  -powder,  together  w  ith 
Difttch  between   her  and  one  Mon-     a   lui!e   note  he   had   written  with 


264 


SPANISH    LITKKATUllfi. 


his  own  blood  to  her;  and  after  he 
had  given  him  the  rites  of  burial, 
to  make  all  the  speed  he  could  to 
France,  and  deliver  the  said  box 
to  Madame  Faiel.  The  old  ser- 
vant did  as  his  master  had  com- 
manded him,  and  so  went  to  France, 
and  coming  one  day  to  Monsieur 
Faiel's  house,  he  suddenly  met 
with  one  of  his  servants,  who  ex-  j 
amined  him,  because  he  knew  he  I 
was  Captain  Coucy's  servant,  and  ; 
finding  him  timorous,  he  searched  j 
him,  and  found  the  said  box  in  his 
pocket,  with  the  note  which  ex- 
pressed what  was  therein  :  he  dis- 
missed the  bearer,  with  menaces 
that  he  should  come  no  more  near 
his  house.  Going  in,  Monsieur 
Faiel  sent  for  his  cook,  and  deliver- 
ed him  the  powder,  charging  him 
to  make  a  little  well  seasoned  dish 
of  it,  without  losing  a  jot  of  it,  for 
it  was  a  very  costly  thing;  and 
commanded  him  to  brine:  itiu  him- 
self  after  the  last  course  at  supper. 
The  cook  bringing  in  the  dish  ac- 
cordingly, Monsieur  Faiel  com- 
manded all  to  quit  the  room,  and 
began  a  very  serious  discourse  with 
his  wife:  however,  since  he  had 
married  her,  he  observed  she  was 
always  melancholy,  and  he  feared 
she  was  inclining  to  a  consumption ; 
therefore  he  had  provided  for  her 
a  very  precious  cordial,  which  he 


was  well  assured  would  cure  her  : 
thereupon  he  made  her  eat  up  the 
whole  dish;  and  after  much  im- 
portuning him  to  know  what  it  was, 
he  told  her  at  last  she  had  eaten 
Coucy's  heart,  and  so  drew  the 
box  out  of  his  pocket,  and  shewed 
her  the  note  and  bracelet.  In  a 
sudden  exultation  of  joy,  she,  with 
a  far-fetched  sigh,  said,  "  This  is 
precious  indeed!"  and  licked  the 
dish,  saying,  "  It  is  so  precious 
that  'tis  a  pity  to  put  ever  any  meat 
upon  it."  So  she  went  to  bed,  and 
in  the  morning  she  was  found  stone 
dead. 

This  gentleman  told  me  that  this 
sad  story  is  painted  in  Coucy  cas- 
tle, and  remains  fresh  to  this  day. 

In  my  opinion,  which  vails  to 
yours,  this  is  choice  and  rich  stuff 
for  you  to  put  upon  your  loom,  and 
make  a  curious  web  of. 

I  thank  you  for  the  last  regal 
you  gave  me  at  your  museu/nt  and 
for  the  good  company.  I  heard  you 
censured  lately  at  court,  that  you 
have  lighted  too  foul  upon  St.  Ini- 
go,  and  that  you  write  with  a  por- 
cupine's quili  dipped  in  too  much 
sail.  Excuse  me  that  I  am  so  free 
with  you;  it  is  because  I  am  in  no 
common  way  of  friendship  yours, 

'  J.  II. 

Westmin.  3d  May. 


SPANISH  LITERATURE. 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 


Our  most  admired  poets,   and 
our  best  prose-writers,   have,   al- 


mired  ;  but  how  seldom  do  we  hear 
!  the  names  of  Lope    de  Vega,   of 


most  without  exception,  dealt  out  j  Cervantes,  Castillejo,  Villegas,  or 
their  panegyrics  with  no  sparing  ;  Quevedo  mentioned  !  It  is  not 
hand  upon  the  Italian  writers.  Tas-  |  that  they  do  not  deserve  praise  that 
so,  Petrarch,  Dante,  Ariosto,  and  j  the  Spanish  poets  have  met  with 
many  others,  have  justly  been  ad-  \  this  cold   neglect;    it  is   not   that 


SPANISH    LlTKItATl'It?'. 


265 


their   minds  arc  wanting   in   that 
depth   of  thought,  in   that  poetic 
fire,  that  wit  and  fancy,  which  so 
eminently  characterize  their   Ita- 
lian neighbours;  but  as  there  is  a 
fashion  in  a  lady's  head-dress,   so 
there  is  a  fashion  in  literature,  and 
all  must  bow  to   that  overbearing 
power.    The  time  may  arrive  when 
the   Italians     shall    be   thrown    as 
much  into  the  shade  as  the  Spani- 
ards   now    are;    but    I    am    only 
anxious  that  each  should   receive 
their  due  share  of  praise,  and  that 
real  merit  may  not  go  unrewarded. 
The  French  critics  have  been  much 
the  most  severe  upon  the  Spanish 
authors,  and  one  of  them  has  gone 
so   far  as  to   declare,   that   "   the 
Spaniards  have  but  one  book,  and 
that  book  shews  the  ridicule  of  all 
the  others."      I  shall  not  venture 
to  dispute  the  point  with  so  learn- 
ed a  critic,  who  no  doubt  had  qua- 
lified himself  for  making  such  an 
observation  by  reading  (as  he  must 
have  done)  at  least  the  principal 
works   in    the    Spanish   language. 
The  calumny  may  perhaps  be  more 
properly  answered   by  silence.     I 
hope  and  believe  that  there   are 
very  few  in  this  country,  who  have 
any  knowledge  of  Spanish  litera- 
ture, who  would  second    such  an 
observation.      Voltaire    has    been 
more  merciful  in  his  criticism,  al- 
though he  has   in  some  instances 
been    unnecessarily,    because  un- 
warrantably, severe.    He  lias,  how 
ever,  done  justice  to  that  splendid 
genius  of  his  age,  Lope  do  Vega, 
to  whom  the  lines  of  our  poet  may 
be  fairly  applied  : 

To  him   the   wit  of  Greece   and  Rome  was 

known, 
And  ev'ry  author's  merit,  but  his  own. 

Boileau    has    ridiculed     Lope   de 
Vol.  X.  No.  LIS. 


Vega  for  his  disregard  of  the  uni- 
ties in  many  of  his  dramatic  com- 
positions, and  in  V  Art  Voetujue  ob- 
serves : 

Un  rimeur,  sans  peril,  de-la  les  Pyrenees, 
Sat  la  scene  en  un  jour  renferme  des  annees. 
La,  souvent  le  hcros  d'un  spectacle  grossier, 
Enfant  an  premier  acte,  estbarbon  au  dernier. 

This  deviation,  which  the  French 
considered  a  high  crime,  has  been 
admitted  by  Lope  de  Vega  to  have 
been  intentional;  and  regardless  of 
the  clamours  of  the  snarling  curs 
barking  at  his  heels,  he  has  dared 
to  say, 

I  lock  up  every  rule  before  I  write  j 

Plautus  and  Terence  drive  from  outmy  sight, 

Lest  rage  should  teach  these  injured  wits  M 

join, 
And  their  dumb   books  cry  shame  on  works 

like  mine. 
To  vulgar  standards  then  I  square  my  play, 
Writing  at  ease  ;  for  since  the  public  pay, 
'Tisjust,  methinks,  we  by  their  compass  steer, 
And  write  the  nonsense  that  they  love  to  hear. 

It  is,  however,  high  time  to  fulfil 
the  promise  I  have  given  of  notic- 
ing the  principal  Spanish  writers 
who  flourished  in  the  16th  century. 
Difficult  as  the  task  may  be,  and 
presumptuous  as  I  may  be  consi- 
dered for  having  undertaken  it, 
yet  with  the  knowledge  that  so  few 
have  trodden  the  path  before  me, 
I  may  perhaps  be  excused  for  mak- 
ing the  attempt.  The  first  promo- 
I  ters  of  the  brilliant  revolution  in 
Spanish  literature  were  Juan  Bos- 
can,  Gacilaso  de  la  Vega,  Don 
Diego  de  Mendoza,  Gutierre  de 
Cetinia,  and  Don  Luis  de  Haro. 
These  were  succeeded  by  Francisco 
Saa  de  Miranda,  Pedro  de  Padilla, 
Gregorio  Hernandez  de  Velasco, 
and  others,  who  adorned  the  lan- 
guage by  the  introduction  of  the 
Italian  rhyme,  by  lively  invention, 
gracefulness  of  style,  purity  of  dic- 
tion, and  dignity  of  sentiment. 
Of  the  poets  I  have  mentioned, 
N  n 


266 


SPANISH   LITJillATURK. 


Diego  de  Mendoza  perhaps  Dierits 
the  most  particular  notice.  This 
illustrious  personage  was  a  poet,  a 
soldier,  and  a  statesman,  and  was 
successful  in  all  his  undertakings. 
Under  Charles  V.  he  was  honoured 
with  the  most  distinguished  offices, 
and  filled  the  exalted  station  of 
commandeur  of  the  order  of  Alcan- 
tara :  he  was  also  counsellor  of 
state  to  the  emperor,  and  even  his 
ambassador  at  Venice  and  at 
Rome.  His  long  residence  in 
Italy,  added  to  his  natural  genius, 
gave  him  every  opportunity  of  im- 
provement, and  he  was  justly  es- 
teemed the  most  accomplished 
courtier  of  his  time.  While  yet  a 
student  at  Salamanca,  lie  wrote 
that  little  piece  called  "  The  Life  of 
Lazarillo  de  Tonnes,"  which  has 
gained  so  much  celebrity,  and 
which  every  day  graces  the  stalls 
of  old  book-shops.  His  poems 
were  published  at  Madrid  after  his 
death,  and  hisfinelibrary  bequeath- 
ed to  Philip  II.  It  now  serves  as 
one  of  the  principal  ornaments  of 
the  Escurial. 

Gacilaso  de  la  Vega,  styled  by 
Luzan  the  prince  of  Spanish  poets,  i 
brought  the  poetry  of  Spain  to  its 
highest  perfection.  He  was  a  knight 
of  the  order  of  Alcantara,  and  was 
mortally  wounded  at  the  storming 
of  Frejus,  fighting  gallantly  under 
the  banners  of  Charles  V.  The 
national  pride  of  Don  Christoval 
de  Castillejo  endeavoured  to  op- 
pose the  introduction  of  the  Ita- 
lian metre  into  Spain,  and  in  a 
poem  entitled  "  Petrarquistas," 
he  introduces  Juan  de  Mena, 
George  Manrique,  Garci  Sanchez, 
Cartagena,  and  Torres  Isaharro, 
as  followers  of  the  Spanish  metre, 
in  opposition  to  Bpscan,  Gacila- 


so, Luis  de  Haro,  and  Mendoza, 
and  accuses  the  latter  of  having 
written  verses  with  leaden  feet.  In 
a  series  of  sonetos,  Castillejo  ridi- 
cules with  some  spirit  the  poetry 
of  Boscan  and  his  successors,  but 
the}-  had  not  the  effect  desired  ; 
and  notwithstanding  his  exertions, 
the  Italian  metre  was  approved  of, 
and  adopted. 

The  merits  of  Fernando  de  Her- 
rera,  who  was  termed  "  the  divine," 
must  not  be  forgotten.  The  fire 
and  energy  of  his  verse  were,  how- 
ever, surpassed  by  Don  Estevan 
de  Villegas,  who  enriched  his  lan- 
guage with  all  the  graces  of  Latin 
sapphics,  hexameters,  and  pen- 
tameters. He  translated  Boethius 
in  a  manner  equal  to  his  great  re- 
putation, and  his  poems  were  pub- 
lished under  the  title  of  "  Eroti- 
cas." 

About  this  period,  pastorals  were 
in  peculiar  favour  with  the  public. 
The  "  Diana"  of  Montemayor  was 
much  esteemed,  and  set  the  fashion 
for  this  kind  of  writing.  This  work, 
while  among  its  cotemporaries  it 
continued  to  preserve  the  interest 
of  truth,  when  disguised  in  the 
pastoral  mask,  shewed  the  merit 
of  a  quick  invention,  and  may  be 
compared  for  elegance  of  style  to 
the  Arcadia  of  Sir  P.  Sydney,  with- 
out detracting  from  the  merit  of 
that  chief  favourite  of  the  Muses. 
The  work  possesses,  however,  some 
fa  nits,  which  have  been  pointed 
out  by  Cervantes  in  his  criticism. 
It  is  adorned  with  some  pretty  cou- 
plets, and  the  episode  upon  Moro 
Abusdarraez  will  cover  many  mi- 
nor blemishes.  Gil  Polo,  one  of 
his  successors,  approached  very 
near  to  his  reputation.  Although 
the  imagination  of  Gil  Polo  is  less 


SPANISH    LI  I  U!A  i 


267 


vivid,  and  his  style  less  natural, 
vol  he  displays  mote  case  and  Fa- 
cility of  versification,  and  his"  Di- 
ana Inamorata"  may  be  considered 
upon  the  whole  at  least  equal  to  its 
model.  Brunet  thought  it  supe- 
rior, but  many  have  since  disputed 
his  opinion.  A  pretty  thought  is 
contained  in  these  lour  lines,  which 
I  have  extracted  from  his  "  Diana 
Inamorata  :" 

"  Ptwqae  t  iftia  tal  ven^anrn, 

Pe  vosotras  el  :u;ior, 

Que  entonccs  os  da  dolor 

Quando  os  Falta  la  esperanca  !" 
These  have  been  prettily  ren- 
dered into  Englishby  Lord  Strang-- 
ford,  the  translator  oi'  the  minor 
poems  of  Luis  de  Camoens;  and 
he,  at  the  same  time,  observes  up- 
on the  similarity  of  sentiment  in 
one  of  Camoens'  canzons: 

Thy  pride  of  charms  shall  all  decay, 
And  thou  shalt  then  its  forfeit  pay, 
And  vainly  weep  thy  former  scorn, 

Thy  thousand  lovers'  slighted  pray'rs : 
And  grief  shall  in  thy  heart  he  born 
When  love  is  dead  in  theirs! 

The  great  Camoens  himself  wrote 
many  poems  in  the  Spanish  lan- 
guage, and  there  are  some  of  his 
compositions  of  a  motley  descrip- 
tion, in  which  he  blends  two  lan- 
guages together,  and  walks,  as  he 
expresses  it,  "  con  hum  pe  a  Por- 
tugueza,  e  outro  a  Castelhana:" 
with  one  foot  in  Portugal,  and  the 
other  in  Spain. 

The  pastoral  of  Cervantes,  "  La 
Galatea,"  was  almost  the  first  work 
he  published.  It  was  first  printed 
in  Madrid  in  15S4.  It  is  acknow- 
ledged to  be  composed  with  more 
force  of  imagination,  and  with 
more  beauty  of  style,  than  the  pas- 
torals of  either  Montemayor  or  Gil 
Polo;  but  it  is  filled  with  verses  of 
an  inferior  kind,  and  the  principal 
action  is  lost  in  the  confusion  of 


minor  incidents,  which  have  no  re- 
lation to  the  subject.  The  "  Ga- 
latea" was  dedicated  to  the  Duke 
of  Bejar,  but  the  result  was  very 
different  from  Cervantes1  expecta- 
tions. The  duke,  instigated  by  a 
priest,  whose  authority  was  re- 
spected in  the  family,  withdrew 
his  hand  from  the  favour  he  was 
about  to  dispense.  Cervantes  af- 
terwards repaid  the  obligation,  and 
in  the  character  of  the  ecclesias- 
tic with  whom  Don  Quixote  dis- 
putes, paints  in  lively  colours  the 
true  disposition  of  the  priest.  Be- 
tween the  first  and  the  second 
parts  of  Don  Quixote,  Cervantes 
brought  under  public  view  his  no- 
vels, and  his  "  Viage  al  Parnasso." 
The  novels  were  well  received  at 
the  time  of  publication,  but  now 
two  or  three  are  only  esteemed. 
The  preference  ought  perhaps  to 
be  given  to  "  llinconete,"  and  the 
"  Dialog©  de  los  Perros."  In  these 
two  breathes  the  spirit  cf  the  author 
of  Don  Quixote,  but  in  the  rest 
it  is  sought  for  in  vain.  The  lan- 
guage indeed  of  all  is  elegant  and 
pure,  and  the  invention  of  some 
sufficiently  happy;  but  the  soul 
of  such  compositions  consists  in 
the  delineation  of  character  and 
of  passions,  and  it  is  precisely  this 
in  which  the  majority  of  these  no- 
vels are  deficient.  The  "  Viage 
al  Parnasso"  is  a  composition  of 
a  very  different  nature.  The  au- 
thor here  has  attempted,  by  an  al- 
legory, to  do  himself  that  justice 
which  the  age  had  denied  him. 
Imagining  the  mount  of  Parnas- 
sus to  be  assaulted  by  bad  poets, 
he  supposed  that  Mercury  came  to 
its  rescue,  and  demanded  assist- 
ance from  the  good  poets  of  Spain. 
The  author  supposes  himself  the 
N  n  0 


268 


SPANISH    LITIiRATUUK. 


guide  to  the  messenger  of  the  gods 
to  select  the  good  from  the   bad 
poets  ;  he  makes  himself  of  course 
one  of  the  chosen,  and   performs 
a  principal  part  in  the  expedition. 
The  work   as  a  whole  is   not  es- 
teemed, and  it  tends  to  shew  the 
incapacity  of  Cervantes   for  such 
an   undertaking.      A    dialogue  in 
prose,  called  the  "  Adjunta  al  Par- 
nasso,"  which  is  subjoined,  is  read 
with  much  more  pleasure.     At  the 
close  of  his  life,  Cervantes  had  se- 
veral unfinished  pieces,  the  "  Se- 
manas  del  Jardin,"  the  "  Bernado," 
the  second  part  of  the  "  Galatea," 
and  the  "  Trabajos  de  Persiles." 
Of  all  these,  the  last  only  has  met 
thepublic  eye.     The  model  of  Cer- 
vantes for  this  latter  composition 
was  Heliodorus,  and  he  has  poured 
forth  all  the  richness  of  his  fancy, 
and  displayed  the  brilliancy  of  his 
imagination,  in  recounting  the  most 
extraordinary  adventures.    He  was 
so  satisfied  with  this  work,  that  he 
said  openly  in  the  court  of  Lemos, 
that  the  book,  was  the  best  of  its 
kind.     This  indeed  was  an  extraor- 
dinary preference,  but  writers,  like 
parents,  are  always  fondest  of  their 
youngest  children.     "  Persiles"  is 
deficient  in  the  first  requisite,  con- 
sidering it  as  an  imitation,  viz.  re- 
semblance.    It  wants  unity,  and  is 
destroyed   by  the  introduction    of 
intruding    and    unequal    episodes. 
It  is  also  deficient  in  that  which  is 
an  universal  requisite  in  such  com- 
positions— a  moral.    Notwithstand- 
ing its  defects,  the  novelty  and  in- 
terest of  the  work,  the   beauty  of 
style,  and  the  wit  of  narration,  will 
always  find  it  admirers.    The  dedi- 
cation, however,  has  always  been 
considered   an    inestimable  monu- 
ment, and  Cervantes  has  there  dis- 


played the  light  and  grandeur  of 
his  soul.  He  was  at  the  time  on 
the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  wrote 
it  almost  at  the  instant  of  death. 
Cervantes  may  be  looked  upon  as 
a  brilliant  star  in  the  hemisphere  of 
Spanish  literature;  and  not  the 
least  of  his  merits  was,  that  while 
suffering  under  the  iron  grasp  of 
poverty,  the  nobleness  of  his  soul 
bore  him  triumphantly  through  all 
his  difficulties,  and  while  despised 
by  his  superiors  in  riches,  the  pow- 
er of  his  mind  compelled  them  to 
acknowledge  the  inefficacy  of  their 
contemptible  efforts  to  degrade  hirn 
in  the  eyes  of  the  public. 

Many  other  poets  besides  those 
I  have  mentioned,  supported  the 
spirit  of  the  golden  age.     Vicente 
Espinel,  Luis  de  Ulloa,  Pedro  de 
Espinosa,  Francisco  Quevedo,  Ju- 
an   de    Jaurequi,     Solis,    Alonzo 
d'Ercilla,   like   falling  leaves,  an- 
nounced the  long  winter  that  was 
to  follow.     Of  these,    the  name  of 
Q.uevedo  is  we'll  known.     His  ge- 
nius is  such,  that  the  persecutions 
he  suffered  were  not  sufficient  to 
damp  his  bold  masculine  spirit,  or 
the  keenness  of  his  satire.     As  a 
poet,  he  excelled  both  itt  the  seri- 
ous and    burlesque,  and   was  sin- 
gularly happy  in  that  turn  of  mind 
for  which  Butler  and  Swift  are  so 
justly  admired.     With  respect  to 
Alonzo   d'Escilla,  the  epic   poem 
"  L'Araucana,"  the  only  one  which 
he  composed,  is  neither  read,  nor 
even  the  title  remembered.     Vol- 
taire, in  his  criticism  upon  it,  ob- 
serves, that,  "  without  doubt,  there 
is  plenty  of  Jire  in  the  description 
of  the  battles,  but  the  poem  has  no 
invention,  no   plan;    it   is   without 
variety    in    the   descriptions,    and 
without  unity  in  the  design."     The 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS   IN   THE   SOUTH   OF   FRANCE. 


209 


poem  consists  of  thirty-six  long 
chauls,  unci  Voltaire  justly  remarks: 
"  On  pent  suppose/1  uvea  ruison  qiCun 
auteur  qui  tic  suit,  uu  qui  tie  pent  s'ar- 
reter,  ti'est  pas  propre  afuurnir  nne 
telle  caniere." 


It  will  be  observed,  that  I  have 
not  here  noticed  any  theatrical 
productions  of  the  Spanish  poets 
of  this  age.  This  may  properly  be 
reserved  for  a  separate  article. 


i 
SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  SOUTH  OF  FRANCE. 

LETTER  XXIII.  (concluded.) 


Mr.  Customhouse-officer  at 
length  returned,  quite  distracted, 
as  he  said,  with  the  wild  doings  of 
the  crew  of  the  tartane,  and  his 
head  swimming  with  the  first  ex- 
periment which  his  feet  had  ever 
made  on  shipboard.  His  well- 
known  voice  instantly  roused  the 
two  girls.  Rubbing  their  eyes, 
they  tottered  towards  him,  and  in- 
quired whether  their  beds  in  the 
vessel  were  ready  for  them.  "  Yes, 
yes,"  replied  he,  "  every  thing 
except  sleep,  which  I  heartily  wish 
you." — "  Oh!"  cried  one  of  them, 
stretching  and  yawning,  "  we  shall 
sleep  to  night  without  rocking." — 
"  Without  rocking  ?"  replied  he 
sarcastically,  "  we  shall  see  that 
by  and  by — only  come  along  !" 

I  gave  my  arm  to  the  elder  sis- 
ter, and  the  younger  took  that  of 
her  growling  uncle.  A  couple  of 
torches  lighted  us  on  our  way.  We 
proceeded,  each  lost  in  silent  me- 
ditation, through  several  streets  to 
the  harbour;  for  though  I  would 
gladly  have  given  the  girl  an  ex- 
tract from  the  sermon  which  she 
missed  b}'  falling  asleep,  still  I  was 
afraid  of  disturbing  her  in  a  so- 
liloqu}'  which,  to  judge  from  the 
deep  sighs  she  heaved,  was  likely 
to  be  more  beneficial  to  her,  than 
the  warning  of  so  new  an  acquaint- 
ance, who  had  not  even  operated 


upon  her  consciousness  in  the  in- 
nocent affair  of  the  silken  tassel. 

A  boat  manned  with  jolly  row- 
ers was  waiting  for  the  company  at 
the  water's  edge.  The  grand  and 
novel  spectacle  which  here  burst 
upon  their  view  —  the  boundless 
expanse  of  ocean — the  glistening 
of  its  waves  in  the  moonlight — the 
tones  of  numberless  voices  from 
the  shipping,  mingled  with  the 
noisefrom  the  shore — the  unknown 
objects  and  sounds  which  here 
crowded  upon  their  senses,  made 
so  strong  an  impression  upon  the 
poor  Berlin  cockneys,  that  they 
looked  at  me  trembling,  threw 
their  armsabout  my  neck,  and  wept. 
I  was  not  unmoved  myself,  and 
when  the  dear  girls  begged  me  to 
accompany  them  to  their  ship,  I 
had  not  the  courage  to  refuse  them. 
I  determined  to  abridge  myself  of 
so  much  more  of  my  night's  rest  as 
might  be  necessary  for  the  purpose 
of  recommending  them,  as  their 
countryman,  to  the  captain,  and 
of  fixing  the  recollection  of  them 
more  strongly  in  my  memory  dur- 
ing their  voyage,  by  means  of  a 
local  knowledge  of  their  floating 
habitation. 

I  had  no  reason  to  repent  m}* 
compliance.  Their  reception  on 
board  was  as  respectful  as  if  they 
had  been  princesses  embarking  on 


i?0 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    TflE    SOUTH    OF    FRANCE. 


7i  little  excursion  of  pleasure,  In- 
stead of  being  stowed  in  a  well 
smoked  cabin  as  I  apprehended, 
we  were  ushered  into  a  pretty  room, 
hung  with  variegated  lamps,  which 
threw  their  light  upon  a  circular 
table  spread  with  the  choicest  re- 
freshments, and  were  welcomed 
in  the  most  friendly  manner  by  the 
captain,  a  man  advanced  in  years. 
He  surveyed  the  girls  with  a  com- 
placent smile,  at  the  same  time  in- 
quiring who  I  was.  I  gave  him,  in 
a  few  words,  an  account  of  our 
brief  acquaintance,  and  recom- 
mended them  to  him  as  their  coun- 
tryman. "  Be  under  no  concern 
on  account  of  the  dear  girls,"  re- 
plied he;  "  I  am  the  oldest  friend 
that  their  aunt  has  upon  the  island. 
Thirty  years  ago  I  took  her  on 
board,  as  1  now  do  her  nieces  ;  and 
depend  upon  it,  they  shall  fare  no 
worse  than  she  did,  as  I  have  so- 
lemnly promised  the  good  lady.  1 
have  had  time  enough — you  may 
see  it  pretty  plainly  in  my  face — to 
learn  my  profession.  The  tartane 
is  my  own.  She  is  no  crazy  thing, 
like  many  that  lie  yonder  in  the 
harbour  for  repair.  Here  we  jo- 
vially pass  the  day,  and  at  night 
— but  come  along,  my  dears,  and 
I  will  shew  you  where  you  are  to 
sleep." 

He  tbea  conducted  the  two  sis- 
ters into  a  neat  cabin  adjoining 
to  the  state-room,  containing  two 
pretty  beds,  with  a  looking-glass, 
perhaps  the  largest  they  had  ever 
seen,  suspended  against  the  wall 
between  them.  This  completed 
their  surprise.  "  Indeed,"  said 
they,  "  this  is  quite  charming !" 
turning  to  the  mirror  and  adjusting 
tiieir  hats.  "  Here  we  can  tell  al- 
rtalv  we  shall  fare  well  enough." 


— "  Yes,  that  you  shall,  if  it  please 
God :  my  whole  ship  is  at  your 
service,"  replied  the  aged  seaman, 
with  a  politeness  that  astonished 
me  not  a  little.  "  I  have  taken  no 
other  passengers,"  continued  he, 
"  that  you  might  not  be  straitened 
for  room."  He  then  pressed  us  to 
sit  down  together  to  the  table.  A 
bowl  of  punch,  which  we  emptied 
with  great  hilarity,  prepossessed  us 
still  more  in  favour  of  the  good 
captain,  who  manifested  the  most 
tender  concern  for  the  welfare  of 
the  two  sisters  ;  for  when  they  were 
reaching  to  some  fine  oranges  which 
stood  before  them,  he  declared 
that  this  was  the  only  forbidden 
fruit  for  them  upon  his  table — 
"  which,"  he  added,  with  kind  con- 
sideration, "  he  would  remove  till 
they  needed  something  cooling 
more  than  at  present." 

This  attention  of  the  old  man  to 
the  girls  could  not  fail  to  strike 
me,  Edward.  Can  their  beauty, 
thought  I,  have  dazzled  him  to 
such  a  degree,  that  he  forgets  they 
are  the  nieces  of  a  customhouse- 
officer,  and  treats  them  like  god- 
desses just  risen  from  the  foam  of 
the  sea,  and  destined  to  reign  over 
St.  Domingo?  or  has  the  aunt  pro- 
mised him  so  liberal  a  remunera- 
tion if  he  delivers  them  safe  and 
sound?  Well,  for  my  part,  I  hear- 
tily wish  the  orphans  all  possible 
happiness,  let  it  proceed  from  what 
quarter  soever  it  will. 

You  may  easily  imagine  the 
pleasing  astonishment  of  my  pro- 
tegees at  such  a  reception.  They 
sipped  one  glass  of  punch  after 
another,  and  felt  no  sort  of  alarm 
at  the  many  compliments  which 
were  paid  them.  Now  and  then, 
when  the  vessel  moved,  they  seem-r 


SKMTiMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    THE    SOUTH    Off    ff RANCH. 


n  i 


.:u!ced  to  recollect  that  too 
much  boldness  is  not  becoming  in 
a  young  female ;  they  would  then 
give  an  interesting  shriek,  and  af- 
terwards beg  the  captain's  pardon 
with  a  loud  laugh.  You  are  no 
stranger,  my  dear  Edward,  to  the 
affectation  of  women.  It  never 
quits  them  either  hy  sea  or  land, 
either  on  the  M»l'a  or  on  shipboard 
— whether  thev  see  a  spider  or  a 
whale,  a  pigmy  or  a  giant.  The 
captain  was  too  much  a  man  of  the 
world  to  betray  any  doubt  of  the 
realiiy  of  their  alarm.  "  Oh  !" 
said  he,  "  in  the  first  voyage  such 
little  frights  are  very  excusable, 
especially  in  young  ladies.  My 
two  boys  were  not  a  whit  better 
when  they  first  embarked  with  me 
ten  weeks  ago.  They  had  never 
been  on  board  a  ship  before;  for 
till  then  I  had  kept  them  at  school. 
Now  they  are  accustomed  to  the 
thing,  and  care  not  the  least  about 
it.  Only  stick  fast  to  them  when 
you  feel  at  all  afraid.  But  what 
has  become  of  the  fellows r" 

At  his  call  two  stout  handsome 
vouths  entered  tiie  room, approach- 
ed the  company  with  abundance 
of  bows,  and  threatened  with  their 
ardent  looks-to  devour thetwo  girls. 
I  thought  there  would  have  been 
no  end  to  the  obeisances  of  the 
Latter,  in  return  for  those  of  the 
lads,  till  the  captain,  with  a  smile, 
ordered  his  sons  to  sit  down  be- 
tween the  youivg  ladies. 

The  problem  of  their  extraor- 
dinary reception  was  at  once  re- 
solved, and  the  old  mariner  now 
appeared  to  me  in  so  much  the 
more  favourable  light :  for  it  seem- 
ed to  me  impossible  that  any  one 
could  devise  a  more  prudent  and 
paternal  plan,  than,  as  I  was  tho- 


roughly convinced,  the  captain  had 
formed  for  matching  his  sons,  with 
or  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
aunt.  I  should  like  to  see  the  girl, 
who,  in  such  a  situation,  could 
avoid  such  suitors!  Only  think, 
Edward,  cut  off  from  the  whole 
world  and  its  amusements — limited 
to  one  single  object  of  desire — 
every  vessel  of  the  heart  enlarged 
by  the  invigorating  sea  air — every 
(hop  of  blood  propelled  with  in- 
creased force — the  whole  machine 
kept  in  constant  perturbation — and 
the  most  magnificent  spectacle  in 
the  world,  the  rising  and  setting 
sun,  constantly  before  one's  eyes — 
how  must  all  these  circumstances, 
dispose  the  female  soul  to  a  min- 
gled feeling  of  pleasure,  desire, 
and  tenderness;  and  in  what  a 
magic  light  must  the  youth  appear, 
who,  solely  engaged  in  watching 
over  her  safely  and  repose,  an- 
nounces with  a  fearless  smile  the 
impending  storm,  clasps  her,  when 
it  arrives,  in  his  arms,  and  strains 
her  to  his  heart;  and  when  the  up- 
roar of  the  elements  has  ceased, 
kisses  with  glistening  eyes  her 
trembling  hand  !  What  soft  emo- 
tions must  such  scenes,  produced 
by  Nature  herself,  awaken  in  the 
female  bosom  ;  and  in  comparison 
with  these  situations,  how  paltr}-  do- 
those  appear  which  occur  in  the 
romances  of  real  life  that  are  daily 
passing  before  our  eyes  I  Conceive 
the  bliss  of  the  moment,  when  it- 
youthful  pair,  after  such  trials  and 
preparations,  at  length  reach  the 
shore  where  love  awaits  them !  Had 
I  daughters  to  marry,  I  would  cer- 
tainly put  them  for  a  few  months, 
with  their  lovers  on  board  a  ship, 
under  the  conduct  of  a  captain 
possessing  a  like  knowledge  of  the 


272 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS  IN   THE   SOUTH   OP   fUANCIi. 


human  heart,  and  consign  them  to 
the  waves,  if  it  were  only  to  spare 
them  that  indifference  and  languor 
which,  in  our  circles,  attend  one 
female  as  well  as  another,  from 
the  nursery  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  from  the  drawing-room  to  the 
nuptial  bed. 

As  the  young  gentlemen  could 
speak  only   broken    German,  and 
the  two  sisters  could  express  them- 
selves no  better   in    French,  they 
had  recourse,  with  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, to  the  language  of  gestures, 
which  was  more  than  sufficient  to 
render  them  mutually  intelligible. 
The  old  captain  observed  his  young 
passengers   with   evident   delight,  ; 
and  I  could  perceive  from  his  ar- 
rangements,  that  he  was  not  parti-  ' 
cularly  anxious  about  starting  im- 
mediately, for  one  cheerful  hour 
succeeded    another,   and    the   day 
began  to  dawn  before  he  could  re- 
solve to  break  up  the  merry  party. 
He  then  ordered  his  sons  to  repair 
to  their   post,  and  attend   to   the 
signal;    but  to   the  two    damsels, 
whose  heated  blood  deeply  flushed 
their    cheeks,  he    now   presented  : 
the  oranges,  and  gave  each  of  them 
another  to  take  with  her  into  the  j 
bed-chamber.     "  I  will  not  order  | 
the  sails  to  be  unfurled,"  said  he,  | 
"  till  you  are  fast  asleep,  and  be-  | 
fore  you  wake,  I  hope  to  be  fifty 
miles  from  Marseilles.'' 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  event 
of  the  last  twelve  hours  appeared 
to  the  poor  girls  like  a  fairy  tale. 
On  taking  leave  of  me,  they  ex- 
pressed their  joy  that  I  had  wit- 
nessed their  reception,  and  they 
wrote  down  the  names  of  some  of 
their  female  friends  in  Berlin,  re- 
questing me  to  inform  them  of  it 
on  my  return.     I  promised  to  com- 


ply with  their  request,  and  I  fully 
intend  to  do  so,  whatever  pains 
it  may  cost  me  to  find  them  out  in 
the  obscure  streets  in  which  they 
doubtless  reside. 

The  uncle  seemed  also  to  have 
had  quite  sufficient  when  the  punch 
was  finished,  and  staggered  to  his 
birth,  which  the  captain  shewed 
him,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
opposite  to  his  nieces.  I  shook 
him  and  the  honest  captain  heartily 
by  the  hand,  descended  into  my 
boat,  and  soon  pacified  the  men, 
who  began  to  grumble  at  my  long 
stay  on  board,  with  the  promise  of 
a  triple  fare  if  they  carried  me  in 
safety  to  the  shore. 

It  was  too  late  to  think  of  bed 
or  sleep  ;  I  therefore  resolved  to 
watch  the  departure  of  the  vessel 
in  one  of  the  numerous  coffee- 
booths  which  surround  the  harbour. 
Whilst  seated,  with  my  eyes  fixed 
on  the  tartane,  and  with  a  plate  of 
oranges  before  me,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  captain's  recipe,  I  ate 
one  after  another  to  cool  my  blood, 
I  contrasted  the  everlasting  conflict 
of  the  faithless  elements  which  lay 
before  me,  with  the  energies  of  man 
which  are  exerted  to  conquer  it, 
and  balanced  the  advantages  of 
commerce  against  its  pernicious 
effects  upon  morals,  our  peace,  and 
our  health;  my  memory  gratified 
me  by  calling  to  mind  the  beauti- 
ful ode  addressed  by  Horace  to  the 
vessel  which  conveyed'  his  friend- 
Virgil  to  Athens.  This  sublime 
model  urged  my  imagination  to  at-* 
tempt  to  follow  his  flight,  though 
at  humble  distance;  and  though  I 
could  not  exactly  call  my  country- 
man and  his  nieces  animce  cUmidiunt 
mea — half  of  my  soul  —  yet  my 
Muse  once  more  turned  with  plea- 


OU1QIN    Ok'    BALLOOiNJ. 


273 


sure  towards  them,  during  the  few  i 
moments  till  the  wind  should  waft 
litem  from  me,  probably  for  ever. 

I  bad  just  finished  my  farewell 
ode,  when  I  observed  the  ship  get- 
ting under  weigh.  The  dear  girls 
are  now  asleep,  thought  I.  Heaven 
protect  them  !  With  a  throbbing 
heart,  I  walked  out  upon  the  beach, 
and  sent  my  good  wishes  after  the 
vessel,  which  emitted  the  harbour 
with  swelling  sails,  and  flew  along 
tinged  with  the  first  golden  rays  of 
the  morning  sun. 

My  animal  powers  were  exhaust- 
ed as  well  as  my  poetical.  The 
seeds  of  slumber,  which  I  had  so 
abundantly  sown,  began  to  vege- 
tate, and  I  was  glad  to  reach  the 
Holy  Ghost,  where,  in  my  bed,  I 
soon  brought  them  to  maturity. 

Thus  terminated  the  first  half 
day  of  my  residence  at  Marseilles, 
of  winch,  from  a  stronger  impulse 
of  self-content  than  I  have  long 
felt,  I  have  given  you  this  account, 
as  an  evident  and  I  trust  convincing 
proof  of  my  amendment. 


Jan.  10. 

The  noontide  sun  had  some  dif- 
ficulty   to    waken    me.       When    I 
!  opened  my  eyes,  I  was  obliged  to 
ask   myself  several  times  where  I 
was,  and  whither  I  was  going,  be- 
fore   I   could  clearly  comprehend 
the   matter.     The  first   thing   that 
met  my  view  was  a  draft  on    Mr. 
Frege,  son  of  the  celebrated  bank- 
er of    that   name  of  Leipzig.       1 
found  in  him  a  truly  polite  and  ac- 
complished man.    HisGerman  gave 
me,  if  possible,    greater    pleasure 
I  than  that  with  which  I  was  yester- 
i  day  so  agreeably  surprised  at  the 
\  table. -d'hote;  for    he  paid  me  mo- 
.  ney,  and  invited  me  to  dinner  to- 
morrow.     This    day    has  afforded 
nothing  for  my  journal.    No  Berlin 
girls  made  their  appearance,  often 
as  I   looked  round  for  them  with  a 
wistful  eye;  and  among  the  whole 
:  company  with  whom  I  dined,  there 
was    not   one   face   upon    which   I 
could  dwell  :   perhaps  I  was  all  the 
\  better  for  it,  since  I  could  the  more 
■  quietly  enjoy  that  repose  which   I 

I  much  needed  after  such  a  night  as 

!| 

;  I  had  passed. 


ORIGIN  OF 

A  dksirk  to  fly  has  prevailed  in 
all  ages,  and  most  children  have  a 
wish  to  imitate  birds.  Roger  Ba- 
con, born  in  Ilchester  in  Somerset- 
shire, in  the  beginning  of  the  13th 
century,  was  the  first  that  is  known 
to  have  conceived  the  idea  of  ris- 
ing in  the  air,  supported  by  ex- 
hausted balls  of  thin  copper.  He 
was  ignorant  of  the  existence  of 
light  air  endowed  with  as  great  an 
elastic  force  as  common  air,  and 
therefore,  though  his  example  of 
light  balls  was  the  same  as  that  on 

y»i.  x.  Nv.  tix. 


BALLOONS. 

which  balloons  are  now  made,  it 
was    impracticable.     But   we  find 
that  Dr.  Black  of  Edinburgh  is  the 
first  person  who  is  known   to  have 
suggested  the  possibility  of  inclos- 
|  ing  inflammable  air,  so  as  to  render 
j  it  capable  of  raising  a  vessel  into 
I  the  atmosphere,    which  was  done 
in  his  lectures  inv1767  and   1768; 
I  and  Mr.  Cavallo  in  1782  first  made 
experiments  on  the  subject,  but  he 
was  unable  to  retain  the  air  in  any- 
material  light  enough  for  the  pur- 
!j  pose,   except  a   thick  solution  of 
O  o 


274  REMARKABLE   INSTANCE   OF   A   PEKSON   TItlKD    FOR   MURDER, 


soap, which  the  practice  of  children 
had  shewn,  would  ascend  even  with 
respired  air  rarefied  by  heat.  In 
the  same  year,  Stephen  and  John 
Montgolfier,  paper-manufacturers, 
of  Annoney,  aboutten  leagues  from 
Lyons,  filled  a  silken  bag  rarefied 
by  burning  paper,  which  rose  first 
in  a  room,  and  afterwards  to  the 
height  of  70  feet  in  the  open  air. 
Several  repetitions  of  the  experi- 
ment were  made  in  the  ensuing 
year;  and  finally,  dry  straw  and 
chopped  wool  were  consumed  in- 
stead of  paper.  One  of  their  bal- 
loons, about  13  feet  in  diameter, 
rose  to  the  height  of  3000  feet  in 
two  minutes. 

At  length,  on  the  15th  Oct.  1788, 
M.  Pilatre  de  lloziere  rose  from 
the  garden  of  the  fauxbouig  St. 
Antoine  at  Paris,  in  a  wicker  gal- 
lery about  3  feet  broad,  attached 
to  an  oval  balloon  of  74  feet  by  48, 
which  had  been  made  by  Montgol- 
fier,  and  which  also  carried  up  a 
brazier,  or  grate,  for  the  purpose 
of  continuing  at  pleasure  the  in- 
flation of  the  balloon  by  a  fire  of 
straw  and  wool.  The  weight  of 
this  machine  was  1600  pounds. 
On  that  day  it  was  permitted  to 
rise  no  higher  than  84  feet,  but  on 
the  19th,  when  M.  Giraud  de  Vil- 
lette  ascended  with  him,  they  rose 


to  the  height  of  332  feet,  being 
prevented  from  further  ascent  only 
by  the  ropes.  In  November  of  the 
same  year,  M.  P.  de  Roziere  and 
the  Marquis  d'Arlanzes  first  trust- 
ed a  balloon  to  the  elements,  who, 
after  rising  to  the  height  of  3000 
feet,  descended  about  five  mries 
from  the  place  of  their  ascent. 

About  the  same  time  Count 
Zambeccari  sent  up  from  the  Ar- 
tillery-ground in  London,  a  small 
giltballoon,  filled  with  inflammable 
air,  which  in  two  hours  and  a  half 
reached  a  spot  near  Petworth  in 
Sussex,  and  would  not  then  have 
fallen  had  it  not  burst.  The  dis- 
covery was  now  nearly  as  complete 
as  in  its  present  state.  Inflam- 
mable air  produced  by  iron  fil- 
ings and  vitriolic  acid  was  soon 
used  in  the  inflation  of  larger  bal- 
loons, and  by  one  of  27|  ieet  in. 
diameter.  M.  Charles  and  M.  Ro- 
berts rose  in  December  from  the 
garden  of  the  Thuilleries  in  Paris, 
and  in  an  hour  and  a  half  descend- 
ed 27  miles  from  that  city.  In  this 
voyage  the  thermometer  fell  from 
47  to  31,  from  which  datum  the  bal- 
loon was  supposed  to  have  reached 
the  height  of  3500  feet.  Subse- 
quent experiments  may  rather  be 
enumerated  than  describe:!. 


A  REMARKABLE  INSTANCE 
FOR  MURDER  ON  THE  PR 
A  GHOST. 

A  farmer,  on  his  return  from  the 
market  at  Southam  in  the  county 
of  Warwick,  was  murdered.  A 
man  went  next  morning  to  his  wife, 
and  inquired  if  her  husband  came 
home  the  evening  before:  she  re- 
plied no,  and  that  she  was  under 


OF  A  PERSON  BEING  TRIED 
ETENDED  INFORMATION  OF 

the  utmost  anxiety  and  terror  on 
that  account.  "Your  terror,"  said 
he,  "  cannot  equal  mine;  for  last 
night  as  I  lay  in  bed  quite  awake, 
the  apparition  of  your  husband  ap- 
peared to  me,  shewed  me  several 
ghastly  stabs  in  his  body,  told  me 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH    OF    MANTACC1NT. 


275 


he  bad  been  murdered  by  such  a 
person,  and  his  carcase  thrown 
into  such  a  marl-pit." 

The  alarm  was  given,  the  pit 
searched,  the  body  found,  and  the 
wounds  answered  the  description 
of  them.  The  man  whom  the 
ghost  had  accused  was  appre- 
hended, and  committed  on  a  vio- 
lent suspicion  of  murder.  His 
trial  came  on  at  Warwick  before 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice  Raymond, 
when  the  jury  would  have  convict- 
ed as  rashly  as  the  justice  of  the 
peace  had  committed  him,  had 
not  the  judge  checked  them.  He 
addressed  himself  to  them  in  words 
to  this  effect:  "  I  think,  gentle- 
men, you  seem  inclined  to  lay  more 
stress  on  the  evidence  of  an  ap-  j 
parition  than  it  will  bear.  I  can-  } 
not  say  that  I  give  much  credit  to 
these  kinds  of  stories;  but,  be  that , 
as  it  will,  we  have  no  right  to  fol-  j 
low  our  own  private  opinions  here:  i 
we  are  now  In  a  court  of  law,  and 
must  determine  according  to  it; 
and  I  know  not  of  any  law  now  in 
being  which  will  admit  of  the  tes- 
timony of  an  apparition  ;  nor  yet 
if  it  did,  doth  the  ghost  appear  to 
give  evidence.  Crier,"  said  he, 
"  call  the  ghost;"  which  was  thrice 


done  to  no  manner  of  purpose! 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  conti- 
nued the  judge,  "  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  as  you  have  heard  by  un- 
deniable witnesses,  is  a  man  of  a 
most  unblemished  character;  nor 
hath  it  appeared  in  the  course  of 
the  examination,  that  there  was  any 
manner  of  quarrel  or  grudge  be- 
tween him  and  the  part}-  deceased. 
I  do  verily  believe  him  to  be  per- 
fectly innocent,  and  as  there  is  no 
evidence  against  him,  either  posi- 
tive or  circumstantial,  he  must  be 
acquitted.  Eut  from  many  cir- 
cumstances which  have  arisen  dur- 
ing the  trial,  I  do  strongly  suspect 
that  the  gentleman  who  saw  the 
apparition  was  himself  the  mur- 
derer; in  which  case  he  might  ea- 
sily ascertain  the  pit,  the  stabs,  &c. 
without  any  supernatural  assist- 
ance; and  on  such  suspicion,  I 
shall  think  myself  justified  in  com- 
mitting him  to  close  custody  till 
the  matter  can  be  further  inquired 
into."  This  was  immediately  done, 
and  the  warrant  granted  for  search- 
ing his  house,  when  such  strong 
proofs  of  guilt  appeared  against 
him,  that  he  confessed  the  murder, 
and  was  executed  at  the  next 
assizes. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  OF  MANTACCINI,  THE  FAMOUS 
CHARLATAN  OF  PARIS. 

A  young  man  of  good  family,  |  was  that  on  which  this  blind  bene- 
baving  in  a  few  years  squandered  |!  factress  lavished  her  favours  with 
a  large  estate,  and  reduced  him-  ji  most  pleasure  and  in  the  greatest 
self  to  absolute  want,  felt  that  he  abundance.  An  adroit  and  loqua- 
must  exercise  his  ingenuity  or  cious  domestic  was  the  only  re- 
starve.  In  this  state  of  mind  he  I  maining  article  of  all  his  former 
cast  his  eyes  round  the  various  de-  grandeur;  he  dressed  him  up  in  a 
vices  which  save  from  indigence,  gold-lacedlivery, mounted asplen- 
and  are  most  favoured  by  Fortune.  |  did  chariot,  and  started  on  the 
Hesoon  perceived  that  charlatanism  (j  town  under  the  name,  style,  and 

O  o  2 


276 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH    OK    MANTACCINI. 


title  of  "  tlie  celebrated  Dr.  Man- 
taccini,  who  cures  all  diseases  with 
a  simple  touch  or  a  single  look." 
This  precious  art  was  possessed  by 
too  many  of  his  brethren  to  draw 
after  him  the  whole  town  ;  he  there- 
fore undertook  a  country  excur- 
sion, and  modestly  announced 
himself  at  L^ons  as  the  "  celebrat- 
ed Dr.  Mantaccini,  who  revives  the 
dead  at  will."  To  remove  all  doubt, 
he  declared  that  in  fifteen  days 
hewould  go  to  the  common  church- 
3'ard,  and  restore  to  life  its  inhabit- 
ants, though  buried  for  ten  years. 

This  declaration  excited  a  ge- 
neral rumour,  and  violent  mur- 
murs against  the  doctor,  who,  not  in 
the  least  disconcerted,  applied  to 
the  magistrate,  and  requested  that 
he  might  be  put  under  a  guard  to 
prevent  his  escape,  until  he  should 
perform  his  undertaking.  The  pro- 
position inspired  the  greatestconfi- 
dence,  and  the  whole  city  came  to 
consult  Dr.  Mantaccini,  and  pur- 
chase his  haume  de  vie.  His  con- 
sultations, always  well  paid,  were 
so  numerous,  that  he  had  scarcely 
timeto  eat  and  drink.  At  length  the 
famous  day  approached,  and  the 
doctor's  valet,  fearing  for  his  shoul- 
ders, began  to  shew  signs  of  un- 
easiness. "  You  know  nothing  of 
mankind,"  said  the  doctor  to  him  ; 
<;  be  quiet."  Scarcely  had  he  spok- 
ken  these  words,  when  the  follow- 
ing letter  was  presented  to  him  from 
a  rich  citizen  : 

"  The  great  operation,  doctor, 
which  you  are  going  to  perform, 
has  broken  my  rest.  I  have  a  wife 
buried  for  some  time,  who  was  a 
fury,  and  I  am  unhappj'  enough 
alreadv  without  her  resurrection. 
In    the   name  of  Heaven,   do   not 


make  the  experiment.  I  will  give 
fifty  louis  to  keep  your  secret  to 
yourself." 

In  an  instant  after,  two  clashing 
beaux  arrived,  who,  with  the  most 
earnest  supplications,  entreated 
him  not  to  revive  their  old  father, 
formerly  the  greatest  miser  in  the 
city,  as,  in  such  an  event,  they 
would  be  reduced  to  the  most  de- 
plorable indigence.  They  offered 
him  a  fee  of  sixty  louis,  but  the 
doctor  shook  his  head  in  doubtful 
compliance. 

Scarcely  had  they  retired  when 
a  young  widow,  on  the  eve  of  ma- 
trimony, threw  herself  at  the  feet 
of  the  doctor,  and,  with  sobs  and 
sighs, implored  his  mercy :  in  short, 
from  morn  till  night,  the  doctor 
received  letters,  visits,  presents, 
fees,  to  an  excess  that  absolutely 
overwhelmed  him.  The  minds  of 
the  citizens  were  so  differently 
and  violently  agitated,  some  by 
fear,  and  others  by  curiosity,  that 
the  chief  magistrate  of  the  city 
waited  upon  the  doctor,  and  said, 
"  Sir,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt, 
from  my  experience,  of  your  rare 
talents,  that  you  will  be  able  to 
accomplish  the  resurrection  in  our 
church-yard  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, according  to  your  promise; 
but  I  pray  you  to  observe,  that 
our  city  is  in  the  utmost  uproar  and 
confusion,  and  to  consider  the 
dreadful  revolution  the  success  of 
your  experiment  must  produce  in 
every  family.  I  entreat  you  there- 
fore not  to  attempt  it,  but  to  go 
away,  and  thus  restore  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  city.  In  justice, 
however,  to  your  rare  and  divine 
talents,  I  shall  give  you  an  attesta- 
tion in  due  form  under  our  seal, 

■ 


MY    OWN    CHOICE  AND    MY    MOTHER'S. 


277 


that  you  can  revive  the  dead,  and 
that  it  was  our  own  fault  we  were 
not  eye-witnesses  of  your  power." 
This  certificate  was  duly  signed 
and  delivered,  and  Dr.  Mantacci- 
ni  went  to  work  new  miracles  in 
some  other  city.  In  a  short  time 
he  returned  to  Paris  loaded  with 


gold,  where  he  laughed  at  popular 
credulity,  and  spent  immense  sums 
in  luxury  and  extravagance.  A 
lad)*,  who  was  a  downright  charlatan 
in  love,  assisted  in  reducing  him 
to  want,  hut  he  set  out  again  on  a 
provincial  tour,  and  returned  with  a 
new  fortune. 


MY  OWN  CHOICE  AND  MY  MOTHER'S: 

A  Tale,  related  in  a  Letter  to  a  Friend. 
(Continued  from  p.  224.) 


I  will  not  attempt  to  paint  the 
sufferings  I  endured  during  three 
years  which  followed  the  birth  of 
my  daughter.  Alas  !  it  is  only  the 
wretch  whom  fate  in  its  wrath  has 
united  to  a  professed  gamester, 
that  can  conceive  what  the  wife  of 
such  a  man  must  suffer.  Obliged, 
in  order  to  keep  up  appearances,  to 
have  recourse  to  the  most  degrad- 
ing expedients,  what  language 
can  speak  the  misery  which  a  sen- 
sitive mind  endures  from  the  re- 
proaches of  tradespeople,  the  in- 
solence of  domestics,  and,  above 
all,  from  the  uncertainty  whether 
the  very  bread  you  eat  is  not  ob- 
tained by  promises  of  payment 
which  you  may  never  have  the 
power  to  keep  ! 

During  this  time  a  rav  of  hope 
beamed  upon  me  for  a  moment, 
but  it  as  quickly  disappeared.  Mrs. 
Fermor  married;  for  some  days 
afterwards  Dorrillon  behaved  with 
a  desrree  of  savage  ill-humour, 
which  even  exceeded  all  he  had 
till  then  shewn  :  whether  the  pa- 
tience with  which  I  bore  it  ope- 
rated in  my  favour,  or  whether 
conscience  at  length  awoke,  I  know 
hot,  but  for  nearly  a  month  he 
treated  me  with  kindness  and  affec- 


ever,  too  strong  for  his  good  re- 
solutions, and  I  soon  found  my- 
self as  much  deserted  as  1  had  been 
before. 

One  morning  he  returned  home, 
after  a  night's  absence,  with  a 
countenance  so  full  of  horror,  that 
I  had  scarcely  courage  to  inquire 
what  had  happened.  Instead  of 
answering,  he  burst  into  tears,  and 
catching  me  in  his  arms,  exclaim- 
ed, "Oh!  Isabella,  dear  lost  girl, 
why  did  you  throw  yourself  away  on 
a  wretch  like  me?" — "  Do  not  talk 
thus,  my  dear  Dorrillon,"  replied 
I :  "be  but  just  to  yourself,  over- 
come one  destructive  habit,  and  we 
shall  yet  be  happy."—"  Happy  !" 
exclaimed  he  wildly;  "you,  Isabel- 
la, happy  in  beggary  with  such  a 
guilty  wretch  as  I  am  !  Oh !  no,  no ! 
I  if  you  knew  all,  you  would  not 
talk  of  happiness." 

These  words  redoubled  my  ter- 
rors :  with  much  difficulty  I  drew 
from  him  an  explanation  of  them. 
I  had  never  seen  Probit  since  my 
marriage ;  immediately  on  that 
event  he  went  to  reside  in  Scot- 
land, from  whence  he  had  recently 
returned.  He  was  induced  to  re- 
visit London  by  the  accounts  which 
he  heard  of  the  disordered  state  of 
tion.     His  love  of  play  was,  how-  j  Dorrillon's   affairs ;  his    generous 


278 


MY    OWN   CHOICE   AND    MY   MOTHER'S. 


heart  could  not  bear  to  think  of  a 
woman  whom  he  had  once  loved 
pining  in  poverty,  and  he  came  to 
try  whether  any  means  could  be 
used  to  save  the  deluded  Dorril- 
lon  from  the  effects  of  his  rash  fol- 
ly. He  was  speedily  informed  of 
thehauntsof  my  unhappyhusband ; 
he  repaired  to  one  of  them,  and 
soon  saw  him  engaged  in  play  with 
a  professed  sharper.  Though  Dor- 
rillon  was  more  than  half  intoxicat- 
ed, yet  he  regarded  his  antagonist's 
play  with  a  jealous  eye,  and  seem- 
ed, as  Probit  thought,  on  the  watch 
to  detect  him  in  some  unfair  prac- 
tice. Probit,  who  stood  near  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  was  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  at  the  bit- 
ter sarcasms  which  Dorrillon  every 
moment  threw  out.  At  length  mat- 
ters appeared  to  be  coming  to  a 
crisis  ;  Probit  saw,  from  the  beha- 
viour of  Dorrillon,  that  in  a  few 
moments  more  a  challenge  must 
inevitably  be  given.  Dorrillon's 
antagonist  was  a  noted  duellist, and 
Probit  was  sensible,  that,  in  the 
event  of  their  fighting,  my  poor 
husband's. chance  for  life  would  be 
small  indeed.  One  only  means  oc- 
curred to  Probit  to  prevent  this 
dreaded  rencontre,  and  that  was  by 
taking  the  matter  into  his  own 
hands.  He  found  no  difficulty  in 
directing  the  rising  wrath  of  the 
sharper,  whose  name  was  Craw- 
ford, from  Dorrillon  to  himself, 
and  when  Crawford  indignantly 
demanded  satisfaction  for  the  in- 
sult offered  to  him,  he  agreed  to 
give  it  within  two  hours.  He  beg- 
ged of  Dorrillon  to  accompany 
him  to  his  lodgings,  and  to  remain 
with  him  till  after  the  rencontre  had 
taken  place;  which  the  other,  un- 
suspicious of  his  real  motive,  rea- 


dily agreed  to  do.  They  met  at  the 
appointed  time:  Probit  insisted 
upon  his  antagonist's  taking  the 
first  fire:  the  ball  lodged  in  his 
side  ;  he  fell,  begging  of  Crawford 
to  fly,  and  was  carried  to  the  near- 
est house.  A  surgeon  was  imme- 
diately sent  for,  who  gave  little 
hope  of  his  recovery.  Probit  said 
it  was  what  he  had  expected,  and 
desired  every  one  but  Dorrillon  to 
leave  the  room.  The  latter,  now 
completely  sobered  by  the  fatal 
consequences  of  the  rencontre,  lis- 
tened with  equal  horror  and  con- 
trition to  the  detail  which  Probit 
gave  of  the  motives  that  had  caus- 
ed it.  "  You  cannot,  Mr.  Doril- 
lon,"  cried  that  generous  being, 
"  suppose,  that  at  such  a  moment 
as  this  I  would  deceive  you  ;  be- 
lieve me  then,  when  I  assure  you 
on  my  sacred  honour,  that  no  un- 
worthy thought  has  ever  mingled 
with  the  tenderness  I  feel  for  your 
angelic  wife  :  use  then  without 
scruple  the  bequest  which  I  have 
made  to  her  ;  but  afford  me,  while 
I  am  yet  capable  of  receiving  it, 
the  satisfaction  of  renouncing  for 
ever  that  destructive  pursuit  to 
which  your  misery  and  my  death 
are  owing." 

Dorrillon  instantly  gave  the  re- 
quired oath.  Probit  wished  him 
to  conceal  all  that  had  passed  from 
me,  but  my  poor  husband  had,  with 
all  his  faults,  too  much  generosity 
of  spirit  to  hide  the  sacrifice  Pro- 
bit  made  for  my  happiness.  Ah  ! 
how  bitterly  did  his  generous  con- 
duct wring  my  heart !  How  deeply 
did  I  at  that  moment  regret  that  I 
had  not  followed  the  advice  of  my 
sainted  mother! 

As  soon  as  Dorrillon  saw  me  a 
little  composed,  he  hastened  back 


MY    OWN   CHOICE  AND   MY    MOTHER'S". 


279 


to  ourgenerous  friend;  nor  did  he 
during  the  following  week  leave 
him  for  more  than  a  few  moments 
at  a  time.  Heaven  only  knows  with 
what  anxiety  I  expected  the  ac- 
counts which  my  husband  sent  me 
several  times  every  day  of  his  si- 
tuation: during  the  week,  he  con- 
tinued to  hover  between  life  and 
death,  but  at  the  end  of  it,  con- 
trary to  the  expectation  of  his  me- 
dical attendants,  his  wound  took  a 
favourable  turn,  and  after  several 
weeks  of  severe  suffering,  he  was 
pronounced  out  of  danger. 

I  cannot  paint  our  first  inter- 
view. I  strove  hard  to  assume  an 
appearance  of  calmness,  but  the 
sight  of  his  altered  and  faded  form 
nearl}-  overcame  my  fortitude:  nor 
was  he  less  affected  from  a  similar 
cause,  for  in  the  poor,  pallid,  ema- 
ciated being  before  bun,  he  could 
hardly  recognise  the  Isabella,  who, 
a  few  years  before,  was  the  idol  of 
his  generous  heart. 

As  soon  as  he  was  completely 
convalescent,  lie  hastened  to  put 
into  execution  a  plan  which  he 
formed  for  my  future  comfort:  he 
presented  me  with  a  small  but 
beautiful  estate  in  the  west  of  Eng- 
land, and  knowing  that  I  had  long 
since  resigned  the  settlement  Dor- 
rillon  made  upon  me  at  my  mar- 
riage, he  took  care  that  it  should 
not  be  in  my  power  to  alienate  this 
property.  He  would  have  made 
his  gift  more  valuable,  but  my 
pride  and  sensibility  alike  revolt- 
ed from  the  acceptance  of  more 
than  a  decent  competence;  nor 
would  I,  but  for  Dorrillon's  sake, 
have  accepted  even  that. 

We  set  out  for  our  new  habita- 
tion ;  but,  alas!  Dorrillon  carried 


with  him  feelings  which  ill  accord- 
ed with  the  tranquillity  oft  c  love- 
ly scene  around  us.  He  had  been 
too  long  accustomed  to  vicious  and 
sensual  gratifications,  to  feel  any 
relish  for  those  simple  pleasures 
within  the  reach  of  our  income.  I 
soon  saw  with  more  sorrow  than 
surprise,  that  he  became  a  victim 
to  earns.  In  vain  did  I  endeavour 
to  procure  him  every  amusement 
within  my  reach,  he  regarded  all 
my  efforts  with  sullen  indifference; 
sometimes,  fur  days  together,  he 
avoided  my  society,  and  if  be- 
chance I  or  my  child  intruded 
upon  him  at  these  times,  there  was 
a  gloominess,  and  even  ferocity, 
in  his  manner,  which  often  alarmed 
me  for  his  reason. 

Some  months  passed  in  this  way, 
when  one  day  Dorrillon  went  out 
early  in  the  morning,  and  did  not 
return  at  night:  it  was  the  first 
time  he  had  been  a  nisht  absent 
from  home  since  our  removal  to 
the  country,  and  I  was  almost  dis- 
tracted with  apprehension,  when 
not  only  the  night,  but  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  next  day,  passed  with- 
out my  receiving  any  intelligence 
from  him.  At  length,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  second  day,  a  messen- 
ger brought  me  the  following  note: 

"  I  leave  you,  Isabella,  in  mer- 
cy to  you  and  to  myself;  I  leave 
you  for  ever.  I  can  no  longer 
support  the  miserable  existence  to 
which  my  own  follies  have  reduced 
me,  and  I  know  that  feelings  which 
I  can  neither  repress  nor  disguise, 
cause  me  every  moment  to  embit- 
ter your  life.  Farewell  then,  Isa- 
bella, for  ever  !  You  will  hear  of  me 
no  more,  except  in  the  event  of 
my  death :  should  that  take  place 


i>80 


POEMS    OP    LADY   MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 


before  yours,  T  will  take  means  to 
let  you  know  that  the  tie  which 
has  caused  all  your  misery  is  dis- 
solved. Forget  me,  Isabella!  I  was 
always  unworthy  of  you;  forget 
me  then,  or  think  of  me  only  with 
that  abhorrence  which  my  conduct 
deserves.  I  know  that  you  will 
not  make  me  detested  by  our  child; 
you  are  too  good,  too  gentle,  to 
reveal  to  her  my  misfortunes  and 
my  shame.  Farewell,  Isabella ! 
farewell  for  ever !" 

Alas!  it  was  indeed  an  eternal 
farewell ;  vainly  did  I  try  to  trace 
the  steps  of  the  misguided  wan- 
derer. Probit  respected  my  si- 
tuation too  much  to  intrude  upon 
my  retirement,  but  he  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  to  discover 
the  retreat  of  Dorrillon;  but  two 
years  passed  without  his  obtaining 
any  intelligence  of  it;  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  third,  an  account 
reached  him  from  Italy  that  Dor- 
rillon was  no  more.  I  must  draw  a 
veil  over  the  catastrophe  of  his  un- 
fortunate and  guilty  life;  suffice 
it  to  say,  he  met  his  fate  from  the 
dagger  of  an  assassin,  which  the 
vengeance  of  an  injured  husband 
had  caused  to  be  raised  against 
him. 

This  latter  circumstance  Probit 
would  in  mercy  have  concealed 
from  me,  but  the  imprudence  of 
the  person  who  brought  the  intel- 
ligence to  England  revealed  it. 
My  already  lacerated  heart  could 
ill  bear  this  heavy  blow,  and  I  be- 


lieve I  should  have  sunk  under  it 
but  for  my  child. 

Probit,  the  faithful,  the  gene- 
rous Probit,  suffered  a  year  to 
elapse  before  he  presented  himself 
to  me;  he  sent  me  at  the  end  of 
that  period  a  letter,  which  my  un- 
fortunate Dorrillon  had  caused  to 
be  written  in  his  last  moments.  In 
this  letter  he  earnestly  conjured 
me  by  all  the  love  I  once  had  for 
him,  to  give  myself  a  protector, 
and  my  child  a  father,  in  Probit, 
I  could  not  refuse  a  request  so 
made,  though  I  thought  that  love 
was  for  ever  extinct  in  my  heart. 
I  owned  this  to  Probit,  who  gladly 
accepted  my  hand  on  the  terms  I 
proffered  it,  of  friendship  and  es- 
teem. We  were  united,  and  a 
short  period  only  elapsed  before 
I  was  convinced  of  my  mistake  in 
thinking  I  could  not  love  again  :  it 
is  true,  my  present  feelings  are 
different  from  my  former  ones,  but 
my  happiness  is  as  great  as  even 
my  youthful  imagination  had  pic- 
tured. Heaven  has,  as  you  know, 
blessed  me  with  two  children,  and 
even  a  mother's  anxious  eye  can  not 
discover  that  they  are  dearer  to 
their  father,  than  my  daughter  by 
my  former  marriage.  Ten  happy 
years  have  passed  since  I  became 
the  wife  of  Probit,  and  each  day, 
while  it  draws  my  husband  nearer 
to  my  heart,  gives  me  additional 
reason  to  bless  the  hour  that  united 
me  to  my  mother's  choice. 


POEMS  OF  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


Mr.  Editor, 

Respecting  the  quotations 
I  am  now  about  to  supply,  I  beg  to 
refer  your  readers  to  the  preface  I 


made  to  the  extracts  in  your  last 
Number  from  the  Poems  of  Lady 
M.  W.  Montagu,  which  are  very 
little  known,  and  sometimes  con- 


POEMS    OP    l.ADY    MARY    WOKTL1.V    MONTA'.;U. 


2B1 


founded  with   the   productions  of 
Pope  and  Gay. 

This  last  remark  applies  par- 
ticularly to  the  "Town  Eclogues.*' 
The  author  of  the  New  Biographi- 
cal Dictionary  seems  to  have  full- 
en  into  an  error  upon  this  subject 
when  he  says,  that  a  satire  upon 
Pope  in  them  contributed  to  the 
animosity  hetween  "  the  little 
crooked  mark  of  interrogation" 
and  Lady  Marjr.  The  fact  cannot 
be  so,  for  there  is  no  satire  upon 
Pope  in  the  "Town  Eclogues;" 
and  what  is  more  is,  that  Pope 
himself  wrote  one  of  them,  and  as 
some  of  his  critics  contend,  two, 
viz.  "  The  Basset-table"  and  "  The 
Drawing-room."  "  The  Toilet,"  on 
the  same  authority ,  is  given  to  Gay, 
and  I  am  not  about  here  to  dispute 
the  justice  of  the  claims  of  either. 

By  the  admission  of  all  parties, 
three  out  of  six  of  these  "  Town 
Eclogues"  are  the  propert)'  of 
Lady  Mary,  and  I  am  far  from  think- 
ing that  they  are  the  worst  of  the 
set.  There  is  this,  however,  to  be 
said  of  the  Eclogues  by  Lady  Mary, 
for  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  and  Sa- 
turday, but  especially  of  the  two 
first,  that  the}'  are  not  written  with 
so  much  delicacy  or  regard  for  de- 
corum, as  those  for  Monday, Thurs- 
day, and  Friday,  the  productions 
of  men.  In  the  specimens  I  shall 
furnish  from  these  neglected  pro- 
ductions, your  readers  need,  how- 
ever, be  under  no  apprehensions 
that  I  shall  offend  their  eyes  by 
unseemly  quotations:  I  shall  care- 
fully shun  every  thing  of  the  kind. 
In  the  Eclogue  for  Saturday,  as 
I  have  already  indeed  remarked, 
there  is  little  or  nothing  objection- 
able. I  shall  begin  with  it,  and  it 
will  be  allowed  to  be  no  insignifi- 
fol.  X.    No.  L1X. 


cant  specimen  of  the  talents  of  the 
authoress. 


SATURDAY. 
The   Small -Pox. 
Fr.AviA. 
The  wretched  Flavia  on  her  couch  reclin'd. 
Thus  breath 'd  the  anguish  of  a  wounded  mind  ? 
A  glass  revcrs'd  in  her  right  hand  she  bore, 
For  now  sheslum'd  the  face  she  soughtbeforei 
"  How  am  I  changed!  alas!  how  am  I  grown 
A  frightful  spectre,  to  myself  unknown  ! 
Where's  my  complexion  ?  where  my  radiant 

bloom, 
That  promis'd  happiness  for  years  to  come  ? 
Then  with  what  pleasure  I  this  face  survey 'd  ! 
To  look  once  more,  my  visits  oft  delay'd: 
Charm'd  with  the  view,  a  fresher  red  would 

rise, 
And  a  new  life  shot  sparkling  from  my  eyes  ! 
"  Ah  !  faithless  glass,  my  wonted  bloom 
restore ; 
Alas  !   I  rave,  that  bloom  is  now  no  more  ! 
The  greatest  good  the  gods  on  men  bestow, 
Ev'n  youth  itself  to  me  is  useless  now. 
There  was  a  time  (oh !  that  I  could  forget ! ) 
When  opera-tickets  poured  before  my  feet ; 
And    at  the  ring,    where  brightest  beauties 

shine, 
The  earliest  cherries  of  the  spring  were  mine. 
Witness,  O  Lilly,  and  thou  Motteux,  tell, 
How  much  japan  these  eyes  have  made  ye 

sell, 
With  what  contempt  ye  saw  me  oft  despise 
The  humble  offer  of  the  raffled  prize; 
For  at  the  raffle  still  each  prize  I  bore, 
With  scorn  rejected,  or  with  triumph  wore: 
Now  beauty's  fled,  and  presents  are  no  more  ! 
"  For  me  the  patriot  has  the  house  forsook, 
And  left  debates  to  catch  a  passing  look  ; 
For  me  the  soldier  has  soft  verses  writ; 
For  me  the  beau  has  aim'd  to  be  a  wit; 
For  me  the  wit  to  nonsense  was  hetray'd  : 
The  gamester  has  for  me  his  dun  delay'd, 
And  overseen  the  card  he  would  have  play'd. 
The  bold  and  haughty  by  success  made  vain, 
Aw'd  by  my  eyes,   have  trembled  to  com- 
plain : 
The  bashful  'squire,  touch'd  by  a  wish  un- 
known, 
Has  dar'd  to  speak  with  spirit  not  his  own  : 
Fir'd  by  one  wish,  all  did  alike  adore; 
Now  beauty's  fled,  and  lovers  are  no  more  ! 
"  As  round  the  room   I  turn  my  weeping 
eyes, 
New  unaffected  scenes  of  sorrow  rise. 
Far  from  m\   sight  that  killin  bear, 

The  ;  •  •',  and  the  canvas  tear: 

P    P 


282 


POIiMS    OF    LADY    MAUY    WORTLKY    MONTAGU. 


That  picture,    which  with    pride    I    us'd   to 

shew, 
The  lost  resemblance  but  upbraids  me  now. 
And  thou,  my  toilet!    where  I  oft  have  sate, 
While  hours  unheeded  pass'd  in  deep  debate, 
How  curls   should  tall,  or  where  a  patch  to 

place; 
If  blue  or  scarlet  best  became  my  face  ; 
Now  on  some  happier  nymph  your  aid  be- 
stow ; 
On  fairer  heads,  ye  useless  jewels,  glow! 
No  borrowed  lustre  can  my  charms  restore; 
Beauty  is  fled,  and  dress  is  now  no  more ! 

"  Ye  meaner  beauties,   1  permit  ye  shine ; 
Go,  triumph  in  the  hearts  that  once  were 

mine  ; 
But  'midst   your  triumphs  with  confusion 

know, 
'Tis  to  my  ruin  all  your  arms  ye  owe. 
Would  pitying  Heav'n  restore  my  wonted 

mien, 
Ye  still  might  move  unthought  of  and  unseen: 
But,  oh  !  how  vain,  how  wretched  is  the  boast 
Of  beauty  faded,  and  of  empire  lost! 
What  now  is  left  but  weeping  to  deplore 
My  beauty  fled,  and  empire  now  no  more? 
"  Ye  cruel  chemists,  what  withheld  your 
aid? 
Could  no  pomatums  save-  a  trembling  maid  ? 
How  false  and  trilling  is  that  art  ye  boast! 
No  art  can  give  me  back  my  beauty  lost. 
In  tears,  surrounded  by  my  friends,  I  lay, 
Mask'd  o'er,  and  trembled  at  the  sight  of  day: 
Mirmillio  came  my  fortune  to  deplore, 
(A  golden-headed  cane  well  earv'd  he  bore,) 
Cordials,  he  cry'd,  my  spirits  must  restore  ! 
Beauty  is  fled,  and  spirit  is  no  more  ! 

<:  Galen  the  grave,  officious  Squirt,  were 
there, 
With  fruitless  grief  and  unavailing  care  : 
Machaon  too,  the  gr<  at  Machaon,  known 
By  his  red  cloak  anil  his  superior  frown  ; 
And  why,  hecry'd,  this  grief  and  this-despair? 
You  shall  again  be  well,  again  be  fair  : 
Believe  my  oath  (with  that  anoath  he  swore); 
False  was  his  oath,   my  beauty  is  no  more! 
"  Cease,  hapless  maid,  no  more  thy  tale 
pursue  ; 
Forsake  mankind,   and  bid  the  world  adieu  ! 
Monarchs  and  beauties  rule  with  equal  sway  ; 
All  strive  to  serve,   and  glory  to  obey: 
Alike  unpitied  when  depos'd  they  grow — 
Men  mock  the  idol  of  their  former  vow. 

"Adieu,  ye  parks!  in  some  obscure  recess, 
Where  gentle  streams  will  weep  at  my  dis- 
tress, 
Where  no  false  friend  will  in  my  grief  take 

part, 
And  mourn  my  ruin  with  a  joyful  heart ; 


There  let  me  live  in  some  deserted  place, 
There  hide  in  shades  this  lost  inglorious  face. 
Plays,  operas,  circles,  I  no  more  must  view  ; 
My  toilet,  patches,  all  the  world,  adieu!" 

From  "  The  Tete-a-tete"  for 
Wednesday  I  shall  not  make  any 
quotation  at  all,  principally  because 
Lady  Mary  has  not  shewn  there 
more  scrupulousness  in  her  writ- 
ing, than  she  displayed  in  her  con- 
duct. Dancinda  is  represented  dis- 
coursing with  Strephon,  her  lover, 
in  a  manner  that  might  suit  the  me- 
ridian of  Constantinople,  where 
Lady  Mary  spent  so  much  of  her 
time  and  lost  so  much  of  her  repu- 
tation, but  is  not  precisely  adapted 
to  colder  habits  and  more  northern 
atmospheres.  A  short  specimen 
from  the  Eclogue  for  Tuesday,  en- 
titled "  St.  James's  CofTee-House," 
a  dialogue,  will  be  sufficient  from 
this  division  of  this  versatile  lady's 
Poems  : 

TUESDAY. 
St.  James's  Coffee  House. 
Silliaxder    and     Patch. 
Thou,  who  so  many  favours  hast  receiv'd, 
Wond'rous  to  tell,  and  hard  to  be  believ'd, 

Oh  !   H d,  to  my  lays  attention  lend  ; 

Hear  how  two  lovers  boastingly  contend  : 
Like   thee    successful,  such  their  bloomy 

youth, 
Eenown'd  alike  for  gallantry  and  truth. 

St.  James's  bell  had  toll'd  some  wretches  in, 
(As  tatter'd  riding-hoods  alone  could  sin), 
The  happier  sinners  now  their  charms  put  out, 
And  to  their  mantuas  their  complexions  suit ; 
The  opt  ra  queens  had  finish'd  half  their 

faces, 
An  1  city  dames  already  taken  places ; 
Fops  of  all  kinds  to  sec-  the  lion  run; 
i'lu   beauties  stay  till  the  first  act's  begun, 
And  beaux  step  home  to  put  !Yesh  linen  on. 
No   well-dress'd  youth  in    coffee-house  re- 

main'd, 
But  pensive  Patch,  who  on  the  window  lean'd  ; 
And  Silliander,  that,  alert  and  gay, 
First pick'd his  teeth,  and  then  began  to  say  : 

SlI-I-IANBFR. 

Why  all  these  sighs,  ah  !    why  so  pensive 
grown  ? 
Some  cav:se  there  is  why  tht.S  you  sit  alone. 


POKMS    OF    LADY    MAKY    WOKTLRY    MONTAGU. 


233 


Docs  hapless  passion  all  this  sorrow  move? 
Or  dost  thou  envy  where  the  ladies  love? 
Patch. 
If  whom  they  love  my  envy  must  pursue, 
'Tis  true,  at  least,    I  never  envy  you. 

S     II.  I  AND  Kit. 

No,  I'm  unhappy — you  arc  in  the  right — 
'Tis  you  they  favoi  r,  and  'tis  me  they  slight. 
Yet  I  could  tell,  but  that  I  hate  to  boast, 
A  club  of  la. lies  whore  'tis  me  they  toast. 
Patch. 
Toasting  docs  seldom  any  favour  prove  ; 
Like  us,  they  never  toast  the  thing  they  love. 
A  certain  duke  one  night  my  health  began  ; 
With    cheerful  pledges    round  the    room   it 

run, 
'Till  the  young  Silvia,  press'd  to  drink  it  too, 
Started  and  vow'd  s'.ie.  knew  not  what  to  do: 
What,  drink    a  fellow's    health  !   she   dy'd 

with  shame ; 
Yet  blush'd  whenever  she   pronoune'd  my 
name. 

SlLLTANDER. 

Ill  fates  pursue  me,  may  I  never  find 
The  dice  propitious,  or  the  ladies  kind, 
If  fair  Miss  Flippy's  fan  I  did  not  tear, 
And  one  from  me  she  condescends  to  weas. 
Patch. 

Women  are  always  ready  to  receive  ; 
'Tis  then  a  favour  when  the  sex  will  give. 
A  lady  (but  she  is  too  great  to  name), 
Beauteous  in  person,  spotless  in  her  fame, 
With    gentle  strugglings    let   me  force    this 
ring. 

SlLLIANDER. 

I   could   say    something — see   this    billet- 
doux — 
And  as  for  presents,  look  upon  my  shoe — 
These   buckles  were  not   fore'd,  nor  half  a 

theft, 
But  a  young  countess  fondly  made  the  gift. 
Patch. 
My  countess  is  more  nioe,  more  artful  too, 
Affects  to  fly,   that  I  may  fierce  pursue: 
This   snuff-box    which    I    bt  gg'd,    she   still 

deny'd, 
And  when  I  strove   to  snatch  it,  seem'd  to 
hide. 

SlLLIANDER. 

See  Titiana  driving  to  the  park  ! 
Hark !    let  us  follow,  'tis  not  yet  too  dark  : 
In  her  all  beauties  of  the  spring  are  seen, 
Her  cheeks  are  rosy,  and  her  mantle  green. 
Patch. 

See  Tintoretta  to  the  opera  goes  ! 
Haste,  or  the  crowd  will  not  permit  our  bows  : 
In  her  the  glory  of  the  heav'ns  we  view, 
Her  eye?  are  star-like,  and  her  mantleblue. 


Thus  Batch  continued  his  heroic  strain, 
While  Silliander  but  contends  in  vain; 
After  a  conquest  so  important  gain'd, 
Unrivall'd  Patch  in  every  ruelle reign'd. 

I  have  already  mentioned,  that 
in  1803  an  edition  of  the  works  of 
Lady  M.  W.  Montagu,  in  five  vo- 
lumes 12mo.  was  published,  with 
the  permission  of  the  Marquis  of 
Bute.  The  subsequent  poetical 
epistle  was  addressed  to  the  an- 
cestor of  that  illustrious  peer.  It 
is  called  "  An  Epistle  to  Lord 
B ." 

How  happy  you,  who  varied  joys  pursue, 
And  every  hour  presents  you  something  new  ! 
Plans,  schemes,  and  models,  all   PaHadio's 

art, 
For  six  long  months  have   gain'd  upon  your 

heart ; 
Of  colonnades,  of  corridors  you  talk, 
The  winding  staircase  and  the  cover'd  walk  : 
You  blend  the  orders  with  Yitruvian  toil, 
i  And  raise  with  wond'rous  joy  the    fanoy'd 
pile  ; 
But  the   dull   workman's  slow-performing 
hand 
:  But  coldly  executes  his  lord's  command. 

With  dirt  and  mortar  soon  you  go  displeas'd, 

;  Planting  succeeds,  and  avenues  are  rais'd  ; 

;  Canals  are  cut,  and  mountains  level  made; 

•  Bowers  of  retreat,  and  galleries  of  shade; 

The  shaven  turf  presents  a  lively  green, 

The  bordering  flowers  in  mystic  knots  are 

seen: 
With  studied  art  on  nature  you  refine:  — 
The  spring  beheld  you  warm  in  this  design, 
;  But  scarce  the  cold  attacks  your  fav'rite 
trees, 
Y'our  inclination  fails,  and  wishes  freeze  : 
,  You  quit  the  grove,  so  lately  you  admir'd  ; 
.  With  other  views  your  eager  hopes  arefir'd: 
I  Post  to  the  city  you  direct  your  way, 
Not  blooming  paradise  could   bribe  your 

stay; 
Ambiti   n  shews  you  power's  brightest  side, 
'Tis  meanly  poor  in  solitude  to  hide; 
Though  certain  pains  attend  the  cares  of 

state, 
A  good  man  owes  his  country  to  be  great; 
Shou'd  act  abroad  the  high  distinguish'd  part, 
Or  shew  at  least  the  purpose  of  his  heart. 
With  thoughts  like  these  the  shiniug  courts 

you  seek, 
Full  of  new  project?  for  almost  a  week: 
P    T    2 


284 


POKMS    OF    LADY    MAKY    WOUTLKY    MONTAGU. 


You  then  despise  the  tinsel  glittering  snare  j 

Tliink  vile  mankind  below  a  serious  care. 
Life  is  too  short  for  any  distant  aim, 
And  cold  the  dull  reward  of  future  fame: 
Be  happ3'  then,  while  yet  you  have  to  live  ; 
And  love  is  all  the  blessing  Heav'n  can  give. 
Fir'd  by  new  passion,  you  address  the  fair; 
Survey  the  opera  as  a  gay  parterre  : 
Young  Cloe's  bloom  had  made  you  certain 

prize, 
But  for  a  side-long  glance  from  Celia's  eyes  : 
Your  beating  heart  acknowledges  her  power ; 
Your  eager  eyes  her  lovely  form  devour; 
You  feel  the  poison  swelling  in  your  breast, 
Aiu]  all  your  soul  by  foud  desire  possess'd. 
In  thing  sighs  a  long  three  hours  are  past; 
To  some  assembly  with  impatient  haste, 
With  trembling  hope,  and  doubtful  fear  you 

move, 
Resolv'd  to  tempt  your  fate,  and  own  your 

love: 
But  there  Belinda  meets  you  on  the  stairs, 
Easy  her  shape,  attracting  all  her  airs  ; 
A  smile  she  gives,  and  with    a   smile  can 

wound  ; 
Her  melting  voice  lias  music  in  the  sound  ; 
Her  every  motion  wears  resistless  grace; 
Wit  in  her  mien,  and  pleasure  in  her  face: 
Here  while  you  vow  eternity  of  love, 
Cloe  and  Celia  unregarded  move. 

Thus  on  the  sands  of  Afric's  burning  plains, 
However  deeply  made,  no  long  impress  re- 
mains ; 
The  slightest  leaf  can  leave  its  figure  there ; 
The  strongest  form  is  scatter'd  by  the  air  : 
So  yielding  the  warm  temper  of  your  mind, 
So  touch'd  by  every  eye,  so  toss'd  by  wind  ; 
Oh  !  how  unlike  the  heav'n  my  soul  design'd  ! 
Unseen,  unheard,  the  throng  around  me 

move ; 
Not  wishing  praise,  insensible  of  love: 
No  whispers  soften,  nor  no  beauties  fire  ; 
Careless  I  see  the  dance,  and  coldlyhenr  the 

lyre. 
So  numerous  herds  are  dri  v'n  o'er  the  rock  ; 
No  print  is  left  of  all  the  passing  flock  : 
So  >ings  the  wind  around  the  solid  stone; 
So  vainly  beat  the  waves  with  fruitless  moan; 
Tedious  thetoil, and  great theworkman's  care, 
Who  dare  attempt  to  fix  impressions  there  : 
But  should  some  swain,  more  skilful  than  the 

rest, 
Engrave  his  name  upon  this  marble  breast, 
Not  rolling  ages  could  deface  that  name  ; 
Thro'  ail  the  storms  of  life  'tis  still  the  same  ; 
Tho'  length  of  years  with  moss  may  shade 

'  the  STXO  ''i'', 

nseen,    remains    the    sacred 
ind. 


It  is  not  generally  known,  I  be- 
lieve, that  the  celebrated  and  ec- 
centric Duke  of  Wharton  wrote 
either  the  whole  or  a  part  of  a 
tragedy  on  the  subject  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots :  if  he  completed 
it,  it  has  never  come  down  to  our 
time,  and  no  more  than  six  lines 
from  it  are  extant:  they  are  the 
following,  and  if  the  whole  were 
no  better,  the  world  has  sustained 
no  great  loss  : 

"  Sure,  were  I  free,  and  Norfolk  were  a  pri- 
soner, 
I'd  fly  with  more  impatience  to  his  arms, 
Than  the  poor  Israelite  gaz'd  on  the  serpent 
When  life  was  the  reward  of  every  look." 

The  metre  is  execrable,  and  the 
allusion  forced  and  affected.  How- 
ever, I  did  not  quote  them  for  the 
purpose  of  criticizing  them,  but 
for  the  sake  of  introducing  the 
following  epilogue,  written  by  La- 
dy M.  W.  Montagu  for  it.  Pro- 
bably she  wrote  it  in  expectation 
of  the  tragedy  being  perfected  by 
the  author. 

EPILOGUE 

TO 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 
Dc$i(jned  to  be  spohen  by  Mrs.  Oldfield. 

What  could  luxurious  woman  wish  for  more, 
To  fix  her  joys,  or  to  extend  her  pow'r  ? 
Their  every  wish  was  in  this  Mary  seen, 
Gay, witty,  youthful,  beauteous,  and  a  queen. 
Vain  useless  blessings  witli  ill  conduct  join'd  ! 
Light  as  the  air,  and  fleeting  as  the  wind. 
Whatever  poets  write,  and  lovers  vow, 
Beauty,  what  poor  omnipotence  hast  thou  ! 
Quern  Bess  had  wisdom,  counsel,  power, 

and  laws  : 
Howfewespous'd  a  wretched  beauty's  cause! 
Learn  thence,    ye  fair,  more  solid  charms  to 

prize  ; 
Contemn  the  idle  flatt'rers  of  your  eyes. 
The   brightest  object  shines  but  while   'tis 

new ; 
That  influence  lessens  by  familiar  view. 
Monarch?  and  beauties  rule  with  equal  sway, 
All  iTive  to  serve,  and  glory  to  obey  ; 
Alike  unpitied  when  depos'd  they  grow — 
Men  mock  the  idol  of  their  Forniei  ><iw- 


VIEW    OP    MILAN. 


28.5 


Two  greal  i  samples  have  been  shewn  to- 
day, 
To  what  sure  ruin  passion  does  betray  ; 
What  long  repentance  to  short  joys  is  due  ; 
Winn  reason  rules,  what  priory  dues  ensue. 

If  you  will  love,   love  like  Eliza  then; 
Love  for  amusement,  like  those  traitors,  men; 
Think  that  the  pastime  of  a  leisure  hour 
^he  favour'd  oft,  but  never  shar'd  her  pow'r. 

The  traveller  by  desert  wolves  pursu'd, 
If  by  his  art  the  savage  foe's  subdu'd, 
The  world  will  still  the  noble  act  applaud, 
Tho'  victory  was  gain'.l  by  needful  fraud: 
Such  is,  my  tender  sex,  our  helpless  case ; 
And  such   the  barbarous  heart  hid  by  the 

begging  face. 
By  passion  fir'd,  and  not  withheld  by  shame, 
They  cruel  hunters  are ;  we,  trembling  game. 
Trust  me,  dear  ladies  (for  I  know  'em  well), 
They  burn  to  triumph,  and  they  sigh  to  tell ;  j 
Cruel  to  them  that  yield,  cullies  to  them  that  ; 
sell. 


me,  'tis  by  far  the  wiser  <  • 
Superior  art  should  meet  superior  force: 
Hear,  but  be  faithful  to  your  int'rest  still ; 
Secure  your  hearts — then  fool  with  whom  you 
will. 

I  have  thus  afforded  sufficient 
proofs  of  the  poetical  talents  of 
Lady  M.  W.  Montagu  in  various 
departments,  and  I  have  done  so 
the  more  readily  because  her  verse 
is  so  much  less  known  than  her 
prose.  lam  far  from  thinking,  ne- 
vertheless, that  her  verse  is  as  well 
worth  knowing  as  her  prose,  though 
she  never  did  any  thing  without 
much  spirit  and  cleverness.  I  re- 
main yours,  &c.  A.  A. 

Biustol,  Sept.  23. 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR  OF  MOUNT  SIMPLON. 

PLATE    26. — VIEW    OF   MILAN. 

The  representation  of  the  city  n  ture:  it  is  perhaps  the  largest  ca- 
of  Milan,  the  capital  of  Lombar-  j  thedral  of  the  world,  with  the  ex- 
dy,  which  accompanies  our  pre-  H  ception  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome, 
sent  Number,  is  taken  from  one  j  and   being    placed    in   the  grand 


of  the  most  favourable  points  for 
displa}ing  the  general  beauty  of 
the  scene,  for  giving  an  accurate 
notion  of  the  city  in  its  entirety, 
and  at  the  same  time  for  supplying 
a  view  of  some  of  the  principal 
public  buildings. 

The  chief  object  that  presents  I 
itself  to  the  eye  of  the  traveller  on 
approaching  Milan,  on  every  side, 
is   the   celebrated    cathedral,   thei 
construction  of  which  has  employ-  j 
ed  so  many  years,  and  which  was 
not  completed    until   late  during 
the    government   of    Buonaparte. 
It  occupies  the  centre  of  our  view, 
and  has  a  very  imposing  appear- 
ance.    It  is  built  of  marble  brought 


square,  it  can  be  seen  on  every 
side  to  great  advantage.  The  ge- 
neral style  of  the  architecture  is 
Gothic,  and  the  niches  in  the  but- 
tresses, as  well  as  in  the  body  of 
the  building,  are  so  numerous,  that 
several  thousand  marble  statues  of 
saints,  martyrs,  &c.  adorn  the  ex- 
terior ;  and  in  consequence  of  the 
mildness  of  the  climate,  receive 
little  injury  from  the  weather. 
These  ornaments  give  the  exte- 
rior an  unusual  and  a  very  striking 
richness,  but  the  interior  of  the 
building  is  more  splendidly  deco- 
rated, while  the  length  and  height 
of  the  aisles  are  extremely  im- 
posing. 


from  quarries  near  the  Lago  Mag-  ■  Much  bad  taste  is,  however,  ex- 
giore,  and  on  the  whole  is  not  onlv  j  hibitcd  in  some  parts  of  the  struc- 
a  stupendous,  but  a  beautiful  struc-  ;  ture,  and  chiefly  in  tho>e  that  have 


£8(5 


vif:w   C?  ^IILAK. 


been  the  result  of  modern  labour, 
under  tiie  superintendence  of  ar- 
chitects employed  by  Napoleon. 
The  grand  west  front  is  peculiarly 
defective,  for  while  the  principal 
parts  are  purely  Gothic,  with  point- 
ed arches  and  all  the  other  ordi- 
nary indications,  the  windows  are 
Grecian,  and  are  supported  on  ei- 
ther side  bv  Corinthian  columns  11 
and  pilasters.  This  defect  gives 
the  whole  of  this  part  of  the  build- 
ing a  barbarous  appearance.  In 
the  same  style  Grecian  monuments 
and  ornaments  have  been  thrust 
into  the  interior:  but  this  absurd- 
ity is  visible  in  many  of  our  own 
churches,  and  not  least  in  West- 
minster Abbey. 

The  church  of  St.  Ambrose  is 
another  structure  of  great  import- 
ance and  considerable  beauty.  It 
was  built  by  Theodosius  I.  who  is 
buried  in  it,  and  the  body  of  the 
saint  is  said  to  be  interred  under- 
neath the  altar.  It  is  filled  with 
many  superstitious  relics,  that  in 
their  time  have  wrought  many- 
strange  miracles. 

The   population    of    Milan    has 
been  estimated  at  between  140  and 
160,000  inhabitants,  and  the  whole 
city  is  five  miles  in  circumference. 
In  many  respects  it  resembles  Pa-  j: 
ris,  and  has  been  not  unfrequently  i 
called    by   a  name  indicating  the  : 
similarity.     It  is  full  of  places  of  \[ 
public  amusement,  coffee-houses, 
and    glittering   shops;  while  little  ! 
or  no  trade  is   at  present  carried 
on  by  the  population,  who  devote 
themselves  greatly  to  pursuits  of 
pleasure. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  edi- 
fices in  the  whole  city,  and  which 
occupies    a   very    large   space   of 


ground,  is  the  amphitheatre,  where 
plays  in  dumb  show  are  represent- 
ed, and  which  is  built  in  some  re- 
spects after  the  Roman  model.  It 
is  capable  of  containing  net  less 
than  GO. 000  persons,  or  nearly  half 
the  whole  population  of  Milan;  so 
that  it  may  be  easily  imagined  that 
if  the  performance  were  in  dia- 
logue, it  could  not  be  audible  to 
more  than  one  sixth  part  of  the 
audience.  It  is  seen  on  the  right 
of  our  view,  and  its  magnitude  may 
be  judged  of  by  a  comparison 
with  other  surrounding  objects. 
Buonaparte  appears  to  have  en- 
deavoured at  a  great  expense  to 
conciliate  and  flatter  the  people  of 
Milan,  for  they  are  indebted  to  him 
at  least  for  the  completion  of  this 
stupendous  structure.  As  may  be 
conjectured,  it  is  open  to  the  sky, 
and  the  greater  number  of  specta- 
tors seat  themselves  upon  the  grass. 

The  opera-house  at  Milan  is  one 
of  the  most  splendid  and  beautiful 
buildings  in  the  world,  and  the  re- 
presentations are  conducted  in  a 
style  of  great  magnificence.  The 
other  theatres  are  not  upon  the 
same  scale,  but  are  by  no  means 
despicable. 

The  greatest  inconvenience  felt 
at  Milan  is  the  want  of  water:  it 
is  true  that  the  river  Tessino,  ris- 
ing near  St.  Gothard,  flows  through 
the  surrounding  plains;  but  it  is  a 
small  stream,  the  waters  of  which 
are  not  considered  very  pure,  and 
are  of  course  rendered  less  so  in 
the  city  by  the  amount  of  the  po- 
pulation, and  the  general  want  of 
proper  drains  and  sewers. 

Some  other  interesting  particu- 
lars regarding  this  ancient  city, ren- 
dered peculiarly  curious  at  the  pre- 


TMK    FKMALB    TATTLKU. 


287 


sent  moment  from  passing  circum- 
stances, may  be  found  in  a  work 
just   completed    by    Mr.    Shoberl, 


and  published  by  Mr.  Ackermann, 
under  the  title  of"  A  Picturesque 
Tour  from  Geneva  to  Milan." 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  LIX. 

Then,  like  the  Sibyl's  leaves, 

O  scatter  them  abroad  ! Dryden. 


to  thf.  fkmalb  tattlkr. 

Madam, 

I,  who  have  some  concern 
in  the  instruction  of  the  youth  of 
our  sex,  am  so  sensible  of  the  value 
of  your  sentential  papers,  that  1 
earnestly  recommend,  as  they  ap- 
pear to  be  drawing  to  a  conclusion, 
the  collection  of  them  under  their 
respective  heads;  and,  with  such 
additions  as  your  mind  and  experi- 
ence will  suggest,  the  forming  of 
them  into  a  little  volume,  which  will 
prove  extremely  useful  in  fixing 
early  principles  in  the  minds  of  the 
other  sex,  as  well  as  of  ours.  I  leave 
such  a  hint  to  your  consideration, 
and  remain  your  sincere  admirer, 
Lucy  Consonant. 

Vowel-Place,  No.  2i. 


Encourage  and  pursue  an  incli- 
nation to  reading  early  in  life;  it 
is  laying  up  a  treasure  for  the  lat- 
ter part  of  it,  provided  you  collect 
it  from  such  authors  as  may  guard 
and  guide  your  steps  in  it. 

Prefer,  on  the  subject  of  piety, 
the  plainest  lessons,  and  what  is 
written  to  your  heart,  and  not  your 
head. 

Throw  not  away  your  time  on 
metaphysics  :  your  faith  once  set- 
tled, let  no  specious  fabulist  shake  it. 

Read  with  constancy  the  New 
Testament,  that  your  memory  may 
be  furnished  with  sure  but  cheerful 
admonition. 


Choose  all  which  is  consolatory 
in  religion  :  the  first  approaches  of 
pious  sentiments  are  often  repelled 
by  an  unjust  dread  of  all-pitying 
Providence. 

Let  your  prayers  be  humble, 
short,  but  energetic. 

If  unhappily  turned  towards  se- 
verity on  the  non-observance  of 
religious  precepts  by  others,  an 
impartial  examination  of  your  own 
conduct  will  be  your  most  effectual 
corrector. 

If  abundance  of  leisure  shall  al- 
low you  to  extend  your  studies, 
let  arithmetic,  geography,  chrono- 
logy, and  natural  history,  compose 
the  principal   part. 

Observe  to  begin  your  day  with 
reading  of  some  serious  nature. 

The  reading  of  elegant  authors 
will  insensibly  polish  3'our  lan- 
guage; but  adhere  not  to  the  beau- 
ty of  sounds  and  the  brilliancy  of 
images  alone. 

The  early  part  of  female  educa- 
tion has  sometimes  accustomed  the 
mind  to  credulity,  from  the  plea- 
sure that  the  marvellous  then  af- 
forded. 

Endeavour,  by  solidity  of  read- 
ing, to  overthrow  phantoms  that 
may  disturb  your  peace  in  your  lat- 
ter days. 

Exclude  all  trifles,  while  any 
part  of  your  time  can  be  usefully 
employed  in  the  article  of  reading. 

Romances  of  a  moral  tendency 


283 


T1IK   FEMALE   TATTLKH. 


may  not  prove  unuseful  in  their 
effects  on  a  mind  fatigued  by  un- 
avoidable application.  An  exces- 
sive love  of  romance  will  make  you 
expect  to  lead  the  life  of  one,  and 
will  place  common  cares  too  low 
in  your  estimation  for  you  to  attend 
to  them. 

A  melancholy  turn  may  dispose 
the  mind  to  gloomysensations;  but 
it  is  dangerous  to  indulge  it  too  far, 
unless  accompanied  by  religious 
submission. 

If  naturally  blessed  with  a  good 
memory,  exercise  it  continually. 

Rest  not  contented  with  the  plea 
of  a  bad  memory  ;  it  is  but  another 
name  for  negligence  among  young 
persons. 

There  are  certainly  degrees  of 
memory  ;  some  more  feeble,  some 
more  perfect  than  others  :  for  the 
one  there  are  many  helps ;  the 
other  must  be  supported  properly. 

Resolution  and  perseverance 
are  correctives  to  an  indolent  me- 
mory. 

Repeat  to  yourself,  or  transcribe, 
what  is  necessary  to  retain  for  your 
instruction. 

When  you  seriously  wish  for, 
and  seek  information,  and  would 
avoid  those  mistakes  which  are  the 
result  of  ignorance,  return -to  the 
passages  you  found  difficult  to 
comprehend,  and  by  writing  them 
down,  they  will  remain  fixed  in  your 
memory. 

If  you  venture  to  hazard  your 
opinions  on  past  events,  be  sure  of 
dates  and  names;  for  incorrectness 
in  these  are  mistakes  imputed  to 
our  sex. 

It  will  not  degrade  you,  if  3^011 
modestlv  interrogate  those  whose 
characters  for  learning  and  prin- 
ciple are  established  in  the  world  : 


lights  from  such  will  clear  your 
way  in  the  path  of  knowledge. 

An  extensive  and  tenacious  me- 
mory should  be  allied  to  sound 
judgment,  that  it  may  not  be  a 
storehouse  of  minutiae  and  useless 
epochas. 

Materials  which  memory  may 
collect  ought  to  be  of  the  bene- 
volent kind;  and  when  reproduced, 
let  discretion  and  charity  distribute 
them. 

Employ  the  powers  of  memory 
in  the  recollection  of  the  favours  of 
Providence,  of  the  blessings  and 
escapes  we  have  received  from  that 
all-giving  hand. 

You  should  apply  to  the  succour 
of  memory,  when  trouble  inclines 
you  to  fix  your  eye  too  closely  on 
the  present. 

Endeavour  to  set  the  remem- 
brance of  former  kindness  against 
the  sense  of  recent  injury. 

It  is  a  happy  and  laudable  me- 
mory that  is  willing  to  return  the 
good  offices  of  those  who  are  no 
longer  in  a  state  to  serve  you. 

There  exists  sometimes,  and  too 
much  among  the  weak  of  our  sex, 
a  certain  malicious  kind  of  me- 
mory, that  can  call  forth  the  defects 
or  errors  of  contemporaries,  or 
some  family  blemish,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  good-nature  is  bestow- 
ing its  encomium  on  the  object. 

Unless  it  be  to  give  assistance 
in  some  material  point  which  may 
concern  the  interests  or  happiness 
of  your  acquaintance,  it  becomes 
often  necessary  to  restrain  quota- 
tions or  recitals  3'our  memory  may 
furnish  you  with,  particularly  in 
mixed  assemblies. 

A  female  traveller  should  be 
doubly  cautious  in  the  communi- 
cation her  memory  may  urge  her 


THE    FEMALE   TATTLER. 


289 


to  make  of  her  observations,  as  the 
minutest  mistakes   in    geography, 

ancient  history,  &c.  will  expose 
hertojust, though  perhaps  envious, 
criticism. 

To  preserve  a  memory  long, 
good  hours  are  requisite;  for  its 
decay  usually  keeps  pace  with  that 
of  the  body. 

The  hours  you  can  steal  from 
the  idle  must  secure  your  supe- 
riority over  them  ;  and  in  rising 
early,  3-011  will  find  you  have  been 
able  to  bestow  a  due  portion  of 
time  on  religion,  worldly  business, 
and  the  cultivation  of  your  mind. 

Your  health,  your  spirits,  and 
your  interests,  will  all  finally  be 
sufferers  by  the  fashionable  habit 
of  keeping  late  hours. 

The  only  reparation  you  can 
make  to  your  own  conscience,  or 
your  friends  and  family,  for  the 
throwing  away  of  time  that  cannot 
be  recalled,  will  be  your  redoubled 
endeavours  to  employ  the  remain- 
der well. 

When  you  rise  in  a  morning 
with  strength  of  body  and  an  un- 
repenting  heart,  you  will  be  am- 
ply recompensed  for  your  resist- 
ance to  fashion,  and  for  having 
been  one  of  the  earliest  in  quit- 
ting the  ball  or  the  card-table. 

If  the  love  of  admiration  in  your 
youthful  days  shall  bear  no  part 
in  your  attachment  to  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  theatre,  there  are 
none  more  instructive,  nor  more 
eligible  for  relaxation. 

When  you  can  fix  your  mind  on 
tbe  scenes  before  you,  when  the 
eye  shall  not  wander  to,  nor  the 
heart  dutter  at,  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects of  the  spectacle,  you  will  re- 
turn home  instructed  and  improved. 

The  great  utilities  you  may  reap 
Vd.  X.  No.  UX. 


from  well-acted  tragedy  are,  the 
exciting  your  compassion  to  real 
sufferings,  the  suppression  of  your 
vanity  in  prosperity,  and  the  in- 
spiring you  with  heroic  patience 
i  in  adversity. 

In  comedy  you  will  receive  con- 
tinual corrections,  delicately  ap- 
1  plied  to  your  errors  and  foibles: 
j  be  impartial  in  the  application, 
^  and  divide  it  humbly  with  your  ac- 
||  quaintance  and  friends,  and  even 
your  enemies. 

Let   nothing    termed    diversion 
absorb  all  your  leisure;  it  will  pall 
finally  on  your  taste,  and  become 
;  insipid  from  frequency. 

Endeavour  tocheck  an  early  pro- 
pensity to  play,  beyond  what  is 
merely  requisite  to  keep  up  so- 
ciety. 

Moderate    play,    at    seasonable 
hours,  proves  sometimes  a  happy 
interposition,  when  it  silences  the 
voice    of  slander,    and    stops   the 
idle  volubility  of  the  tongue. 
If,  from   connections  and   coin- 
'  plaisance,   you    are    obliged   con- 
'.  stantly  to  play,  let  moderation  be 
i!  your   leading    rule.     Great  sensi- 
|j  biiity  at  play  will,  on  some  occa- 
sions, carry  the  same  appearance 
as  avarice;  you  must  therefore  en- 
I  deavour  to  subdue  it. 

Avoid  the  exclamations  and  ges- 
tures  of  joy    or    sorrow,  so   com- 
mon at  the  card-table,  and  so  ridi- 
culous to  the  uninterested   spec- 
tator. 

Weary  not  the  ears  of  your  so- 
ciety with  the  recapitulation  of 
your  own  losses,  and  the  mistakes 
of  your  partners. 

Support  with  decency  every  pro- 
vocation that  ill-breed  ng  and  ava- 
rice may  give  you  at  play ;  but  you 
will  merit  a  repetition  of  that  be- 
Q.   Q 


890 


SIDKKOQIIAPHIA. 


haviour  if  you  ever  play  again  with 
such  persons:  the  one  maintains, 
the  other  lessens,  your  dignity. 

Listen  with  patience  to  the  cri- 
ticisms of  superior  players  to  your- 
self. 

Should  good  luck  enable  you  to 
add  something  to  your  expense, 
apply  at  least  a  portion  of  it  to 
the  relief  of  distress :  this  is  a  kind 
of  retribution  for  your  dissipation. 
It  has  happened,  that,  in  order 
to  maintain  useful  connections, 
persons  of  limited  fortunes  have 
been  compelled  to  dress  or  plav 
beyond  their  faculties:  if  such 
come  in  }7our  way,  endeavour  to 
soften  the  pain  of  their  subjection 
to  custom,  bj-  not  profiting  of  your 
advantages  over  them,  and  which 
your  better  fortune  may  have  of-  I 
fered  you. 

When    time,    sorrow,    or   other  ' 
s,  shall  have  abated  your  love 
of    diversion,    make   3-0 ur   retreat 
silently,  and    without   censure  on  j 
the  taste  of  others. 

If  you  desire  to  continue  agree-  i 
ably  in  the  world  in  the  latter  sea- 
son  of  your  life,  rather  promote,  I 
than  restrain  the  innocent  amuse-  1 


ments  of  younger  persons,  that 
the  echo  of  cheerfulness  may  reach 
your  ears. 

Prepare  yourself  for  durable  so- 
litude and  retreat  by  some  tran- 
sient essays  from  time  to  time. 

Be  thoroughly  assured  of  the 
constancy  of  your  disposition,  and 
the  solidity  of  your  motives,  be- 
fore you  totally  engage  in  retire- 
ment. 

It  is  not  a  recent  loss,  nor  a  sud- 
den disgust,  that  should  urge  you 
to  take  a  step,  which,  if  attended 
by  perseverance,  would  be  re- 
spectable. 

If  envy,  pride,  severity,  or  a 
lurking  love  of  the  world's  amuse- 
ments, haunt  your  solitude,  your 
vocation  is  false. 

We  have  almost  to  every  one  of 
us  some  part  allotted  in  the  chain 
of  society,  that  will  not  permit  us 
to  detach  ourselves  entirely  from 
it. 

Supposing  your  retreat  author- 
ized by  your  position,  obey  each 
call  of  friendship  or  duty  that  for 
a  time  may  demand  you  to  aban- 
don it.  F T . 


Plate  27.— SIDEROGRAPHIA, 

Or  the  Mode  of  perpetuating  I:  -  on  Steel  or  other  Metals,  invented  by 

Messrs.  Perkins,  Fairman,  and  Heath. 


Wli  this  month  lay  before  our 
readers  a  specimen  of  one  of  the 
most  useful,  and  at  the  same  time 
one  of  the  most  beautiful,  inven- 
tions ever  discovered  by  human 
ingenuity:  its  utility  is  not  con- 
fined even  to  the  extended  circle 
of  science,  for  it  is  capable  of 
being  employed  most  effectually 
in  the  preservation  of  human  life, 


committing  the  crime  of  forging; 
the  notes,  whether  of  the  Bank  of 
England,  or  of  other  similar  though 
less  important  establishments.  Af- 
ter the  inquiries  that  have  of  late 
been  instituted  into  this  interest- 
ing subject  by  the  labours  of  a 
committee  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  after  the  nany  discus- 
sions of  it  both  in  and  out  of  Par- 


by  preventing   the  possibility  oi    liament,  it  is  not  necessary  for  us 


i 


SIDKIiOGRAPHIA. 


291 


to  dwell  upon  it  further,  than  to 
invite  a  minute  examination  of  the 
annexed  plate  for  a  proof  of  the 
utter  impracticability  of  imitation, 
at  least  without  that  vast  compli- 
cation of  exquisite  machinery  by 
which  all  the  engine  part  of  the 
work  is  accomplished.  This  of  it- 
self must  be  obvious,  even  inde- 
pendent of  any  knowledge  of  the 
nature  and  operation  of  that  ma- 
chinery. 

The  modes  in  which  the  general 
objects  of  science  may  be  advanc- 
ed, are  very  numerous,  nor  do  we 
at  all  pretend,  in  the  space  to  which 
we  are  necessarily  limited,  to  go 
through  them.  The  most  striking 
and  generally  lamented  disadvan- 
tage in  all  engravings  upon  cop- 
per is,  the  gradual  deterioration  of 
the  plate  according  to  the  number 
of  impressions  taken  from  it:  this 
circumstance  has  given  value  to 
what  are  called  proofs,  and  when 
the  plate  has  yielded  a  thousand 
or  more  impressions,  all  the  finer 
parts  of  the  work  are  nearly  obli- 
terated. In  this  respect,  the  in- 
vention of  Messrs.  Perkins,  Fair- 
man,  and  Heath  is  most  advan- 
tageous, there  being  no  percepti- 
ble difference  between  the  first  im- 
pression, and  after  the  ten  or  twen- 
ty thousand  copies  have  been  struck 
from  one  of  their  plates.  This  will 
more  particularly  appear  from  a 
brief  statement  of  the  nature  of 
their  discovery,  and  the  process 
by  which  it  is  performed. 

The  invention  is  called  a  method 
of  perpetuating  engravings  upon 
steel  or  other  metals,  and  it  is  thus 
executed  :  Steel  blocks,  or  plates  of 
a  fit  size  to  receive  the  intended 
engraving,  have  their  surfaces  soft- 
ened, or,  as  it  is  chemically  termed, 


decarbonated,  which  renders  the 
metal  even  a  better  material  for 
the  most  delicate  species  of  en- 
graving than  copper  itself.  The 
intended  engraving  is  then  exe- 
cuted upon  the  block  or  plate, 
which  is  afterwards  again  harden- 
ed with  great  care  by  a  new  pro- 
cess, which  prevents  the  slightest 
injury  to  the  work.  A  cylinder  of 
steel,  which  has  been  previously 
softened  or  decarbonated,  is  then 
placed  in  what  is  called  the  trans- 
ferring press,  and  repeatedly  pass- 
ed over  the  engraved  block,  by 
which  the  engraving  is  transferred 
in  relief  to  the  periphery  of  the 
cylinder;  the  press  having  a  vi- 
brating motion  equalling  that  of 
the  cylinder  upon  its  periphery, 
by  which  new  surfaces  of  the  cy- 
linder are  presented  equal  to  the 
extent  of  the  engraving.  This  cy- 
linder is  then  hardened  in  the 
same  way  that  the  block  or  plate 
had  been  previously  done,  and  is 
emploj'ed  to  indent  copper  or  steel 
plates  with  engravings,  identically 
the  same  with  that  upon  the  ori- 
ginal block:  this  may  be  repeated 
ad  infinitum,  as  the  original  engrav- 
ing will  remain,  from  which  other 
cylinders  may  be  impressed  if  re- 
quired. 

It  is  evident  that  this  invention 
may  be  applied  with  benefit  in 
many  ways,  and  especially  for  the 
improvement  of  several  branches 
of  our  manufactures.  In  the  in- 
genious process  of  calico-printing, 
entirely  new  patterns  may  be  pro- 
duced upon  the  cylinders  from 
which  the  calico  is  printed  :  this 
of  itself  is  a  most  important  con- 
sideration, and  might  give  this 
country  one  more  advantage  over 
other  nations  in  this  most  extensive 
Q.  Q  2 


292 


DR.   SYNTAX  IN   SEARCH   OF   A   WlfE. 


business.  It  may  be  also  employed 
in  our  potteries,  which  of  late  years 
have  so  successfully  rivalled  those 
of  our  neighbours,  and  by  this  ad- 
dition competition  will  be  placed 
at  a  distance.  Upon  this  part  of 
the  subject  we  need  not  dwell,  as 
the  information  of  our  readers  will 
readily  supply  our  omissions.  As 
not  less  than  200,000  impressions, 
absolute  fac-similes,  and  without 
deterioration,  may  be  taken,  all 
great  standard  works,  at  least  such 
as  require  illustration  by  the  art  of 
the  engraver,  may  be  supplied  with 
plates,  all  of  which  will  be  equally 
perfect. 

After  all,  perhaps  the  most  in- 
teresting, if  not  the  important  ap- 


plication of  the  discovery,  is  that 
to  which   we  at  first  alluded,  the 
prevention  of  the  forgery  of  Bank- 
notes: its  efficacy  in  this  respect 
has  been  testified  under  the  hands 
of  some  of  the  most  scientific  men 
of  the  day,  Messrs.  Maudsley,  Bru- 
nei, Donkin,  B  ram  ah,  Rennie,  &c. 
The   plate   which   accompanies 
this  article  will  require  no  parti- 
cular description  :  it  contains  in  it- 
self specimens  of  various  modes 
of  engraving  by  hand  or  engine, 
of  the   most   exquisite   workman- 
ship.    For  the  skill  with  which  it 
j  is  performed,  we  need  say  no  more 
:  than  that  Mr.  Charles  Heath  has 
|  heen  associated  with  the  original 
|  inventors  of  this  admirable  process. 


DR.  SYNTAX  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WIFE. 

We  have  before  announced  that  I  second  Tour  than  after  the  com- 


the  ineenious  and  humorous  author 
of  Dr.  Syntax  in  Search  of  the  Pic- 
turesque and  of  Consolation,  was  pre- 
paring a  third  Tour  of  his  celebrat- 
ed  hero,  in  which  he  should  be  oc- 
cupied in  the  discovery  of  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  amiable  and  affec- 
tionate wife  whom  he  lost  at  the 
commencement  of  the  second  vo- 
lume of  his  adventures.  The  first 
number  of  it  has  now  been  publish- 
ed bvMr.  Ackermann,with  designs 
by  Rowlandson,  who  it  will  not  be 
forgotten  executed  the  drawings 
for  the  plates  accompanying  the 
two  preceding  Tours. 

Were  the  anonymous  writer  of 
these  productions,  to  use  a  phrase 
somewhat  paradoxical,  less  known, 
we  should  feel  bound  perhaps  to 
give  some  sort  of  criticism  on  his 
merits;  but  he  is  so  deservedly 
popuiar,   even   more   so   after  his 


pletion  of  his  first,  that  such  an  at- 
tempt is  rendered  quite  needless. 
It  has  been  remarked,  that  in  the 
second  Tour  the. Doctor  became 
more  didactic  than  in  the  fust :  we 
cannot  say  that  we  agree  in  this 
opinion,  though  if  it  were  so,  it 
would  be  quite  in  character;  and 
we  always  thought  that  the  good- 
tempered  and  instructive  humour 
of  the  "  Tour  in  Search  of  the  Pic- 
turesque" formed  one  of  its  chief 
recommendations.  In  no  part  of 
either  did  the  author  allow  the  at- 
tention or  interest  to  flag,  but  kept 
up  a  pleasing  excitement  of  one 
faculty  or  another  from  beginning 
to  end.  This  formed  one  great 
distinguishing  feature  between  the 
real  productions  of  the  writer  of 
Dr.  Syntax,  and  the  shameless 
imitations  which  his  success  occa- 
sioned :  the  latter  were  mere  gro.-;i 


I)K.   SYNTAX   IN   SEARCH    OF  A   WIFE. 


293 


burlesques,  with  nothing  but  their 
absolute  coarseness  to  recommend 
them. 

However,  if  by  some  few  the 
second  Tour  was  considered  too 
grave  in  some  of  the  reflections,  if 
the  remaining  part  of  this  third 
narrative  of  adventures  be  on  the 
same  plan  as  the  first  number,  now 
before  us,  there  will  be  no  reason 
to  complain  in  that  particular.  We 
will  give  some  extracts,  which  we 
think  will  establish  what  we  have 
stated.  Dr.  Sjmtax  leaves  Som- 
merden  to  visit  his  acquaintance 
'Squire  Bumpkin,  his  friends  the 
Worthies  having  left  his  neighbour- 
hood for  a  season.  The  following 
is  a  part  of  the  scene  at  dinner, 
which  gives  an  excellent  notion 
of  the  different  characters  present: 

"  Why   still    so  grave,   my    worthy 

friend?" 
The 'Squire  exclaim'd;  "where  will  this 

end  ? 
I  prithee,  why  make  all  this  poiher? 
You've  lost  one  wife — then  get  another; 
And  sure,  in  all  this  country  round, 
Another  may  be  quickly  found. 
From  different  motives  people  grieve, 
For  wives  that  die,  and  wives  that  live. 
— That  scarecrow  Death  is  oft  a  sad  one, 
Takes  the  good  wife  and  leaves  the  bad 

one: 
As  sure  as  that  bright  sun  doth  shine, 
I  wish  that  he  had  taken  mine. 
Not  that  I  sutler  such  disaster 
As  to  let  madam  play  the  master, 
Nor  yet  to  let  the  lady  boast, 
That  o'er  her  lord  she  rules  the  roast : 
I  learned  not,  where  I  went  to  school, 
In  such  a  way  to  play  the  fool. 
'Tis  true,  from  harshness  I  refrain, 
But  then  I  always  hold  the  rein: 
For  he  who  ventures  on  a  wife, 
■To  be  the  comfort  of  his  life, 
Should  never  this  advice  refuse:  — 
Take  her  down  in  her  wedding  shoes." 


— Syntax,  his  fancy  to  beguile, 
Here  sunk  his  laughter  in  a  smile; 
For  it  was  known  to  great  and  small 
How  things  went  on  at  Bumpkin  Hall : 
Nay,  'twas  a  well-known  standing  joke, 
Among  the  neighb'ring  country  folk, 
That  when  the  lady's  in  the  way 
The  'Squire  would  ne'er  say  yea  or  nay, 
But  as  her  ruling  spirit  told  him, 
Or  with  a  certain  look  controul'd  him; 
Though  now  his  tongue  ne'er  seem'd  to 

rest, 
And  thus  his  invitation  press'd  : 
"  Doctor,  come  here  next  hunting-sea- 
son, 
And   faith,   my   friend,    Fll   shew    you 

reason : 
You  shall  mount  on  my  Yorkshire  grey, 
And  gallop  all  your  cares  away." — 
"  I  doubt  not,"  Syntax  smiling  said, 
"  Your  recipe  would  be  obey'd  ; 
It  would  afford  a  speedy  cure 
For  ev'ry  evil  I  endure  : 
But  for  my  kind  physician's  sake, 
I  do  not  wish  my  neck  to  break." 

They  talk'd,  when  soon  the  bell's  shrill 
chime 
Declar'd  it  to  be  dinner-time, 
Nor  was  it  an  unwelcome  call 
That  bade  their  footsteps  seek  the  hall ; 
For  though  the  Doctor's  whims  prevail'd, 
His  appetite  had  never  fail'd. 
By  madam  he  was  kindly  greeted, 
As,  "  How  d'ye  do?"  and  "   pray    be 

seated. 
It  doth  a  perfect  a#e  appear 
Since  we  enjoy'd  your  presence  here  ; 
I  feel  it  always  as  a  treasure, 
And  wish  I  oft'nerfelt  the  pleasure." — 
"  Bumpkin,  I  pray  you  move  the  dish, 
And  help  the  Doctor  to  some  fish." 
"  Indeed  I  hope,  'tis  in  your  view 
To  pass  with  us  a  day  or  two ; 
Nay,  I  could  wish  it  might  be  more, 
And  lengthen'd  out  unto  a  score." 
"  Bumpkin,  you  think  not  as  we  dine, 
That  some  folks  love  a  glass  of  wine." 
"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  an  hour, 
Since  you  have  made  your  charming 
tour, 


£94 


DR.  SYNTAX   IN  SKAIICH   OF   A   WIFE. 


And  I  shall  ask  you  to  display 
Its  hist'ry  in  your  rapid  way." 

'•'  Husband,  I'll  bet  my  life  upon  it, 
Our  kind  guest' s  plate  has  notliing  onit; 
IMuke  haste,  and  give  it  a  supply 
Of  that  well-looking  pigeon-pie." 
"  Tis  a  fine  match  Mi;-s  Worthy  made: 
A  charming  girl,  I  always  said; 
And  does  th<se  qualities  possess 
That  claim  the  promis'd  happiness. 
Some  may  think  one  thing,  some  anoiher; 
But  is  she  handsome  as  her  mother? 
Her  mamma's  auburn  'locks,  I  own, 
Are  belter  than  her  daughter's  brown; 
Although  the  latter,  you  may  see, 
Dame  nature  has  bestow'd  on  me." 
"  'Squire   Bumpkin,  were  it  not  my 

care 
To  see  how  all  about  me  fare, 
Our  rev  rend  friend  would  have  good 

luck 
To  get  a  wing  of  that  fine  duck." 
"  Since,  Doctor,  you  were  here  be- 
fore, 
I've  added  to  my  floral  store, 
And  some  fine  specimens  have  got 
Which  aria  not  ev'ry  florist's  lot; 
They're  in  the  happiest  state  to  view, 
And  will  be  much  admir'd  by  you." 
"  As  somcjolk  do  not  seem  to  think, 
That  when  we  cat  we  ivant  to  drink, 
I  ask  you,  Doctor,  if  you' 11  join 
Your  hostess  in  a  glass  of  wine? 
Your  better  taste,  sir,  ivill  prevail, 
Nor  share  in  vulgar  cups  of  ale." 
"  My  new  piano  has  a  tone 
Which  your  judicious  ear  will  own, 
At  lea-t  to  me  it  so  appears, 
Such  as  one  very  seldom  hears. 
I  too  of  lai e  have  practised  much, 
And  am  improv'd  in  time  and  touch; 
Thus  with   your    fiddle's  well-known 

power, 
We  shall  delight  an  ev'ning  hour." 

The  Doctor  made  his  frequent  bow, 
Andres  replied,  or  answer'd  no, 
Just  as  the  lady's  words  requir'd, 
Or  as  his  emptv  pla'e  inspir'd. 
Indeed  it  clearly  must  appear 
He'd  nought  to  do  but  tat  r\vA  htar  ; 


While  the   calm  husband's  sharoen'd 
knife 

Obey'd  the  orders  of  his  wife. 

Thus  madam,   with  habitual  art, 
Continued  her  presiding  part ; 
Did  with  her  smiles  the  Doctor  crown, 
Or  silence  Billy  with  a  frown, 
And,  in  a  well-adapted  measure, 
Alternately  display'd  her  pleasure; 
Her  tongue  was  never  at  a  stand, 
But  play'd  at  question  and  command: 
She  could  affirm  anil  could  deny 
With  mild  impetuosity, 
And  scarce  her  question  could  be  heard, 
Ere  she  an  answer  had  preferr'd  : 
Thus  till  the  absence  of  the  cloth, 
She  to  and  fro  employ'd  them  both, 
At  once  th'  attention  to  delight, 
And  give  a  grace  to  appetite. 

The  dinner  pass'd  as  dinners  do  ; 
Ma'am's  health  was  drunk,  and  she  with- 
drew ; 
But  as  the  lady  left  the  chair, 
With  solemn  smiles,  but  gracious  air, 
"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "  I  know  your  taste 
Is  not  your  time  and  thoughts  to  wiste 
In  that  intemp'rance  which  gives  birth 
To  boist'rous  noise  and  vulgar  mirth, 
Which,   with    its   loud    and    clam'rous 

brawls, 
Too  oft  has  echoed  in  these  walls; 
But,  if  I  can  such  feats  restrain, 
Shall  seldom  echo  here  again. 
Pray  let  not  that  good  man  prevail 
To  swill  yourself  with  sluggard  ale; 
But  when  you've  sipp'd  a  glass  or  so 
Of  wine,  that  makes  the  bosom  glow, 
Let  him  go  booze  his  fav'rite  liquor 
With  the  exciseman  and  the  vicar, 
While  I  expect  toy  rev'rend  friend 
Will  in  the  drawing-room  attend." 
The  rev'rend  friend  bovv'd  his  assent, 
And  with  a  flirt  the  lady  went. 
The'Squire,  vvhoscarce  had  spoke  aword 
While  dinner  stnok'd  upon  the  board, 
No  sooner  was  the  fair-one  gone 
Than  he  assum'd  a  lofty  tone. 

Bumpkin. 
"  Doctor,  I  hope  you  know  me  better, 
Than  to  suppose  that  I  can  fetter 


DR.  SYNTAX   IN   S.'iAUCH    OF   A    WIFff. 


203 


My  sports  and  pleasures  to  the  will 

Of  that  same  tongue  that  ne'er  lies  still: 

You  saw  what  pretty  airs  she  gave, 

As  if  I  were  a  very  slave ; 

But,  my  good  friend,  as  you  were  by 

1  did  not  choose  to  look  awry. 

Nor  would  I  wound  your  rev'rend  cloth 

By  rapping  out  a  swinging  oath, 

Which,  but  from  my  respect  to  you, 

I  was  full  well  inclin'd  to  do, 

And  would  at  once  have  brought  her  to. 

Yes,  she  may  toss  her  head  and  hector, 

But  she  shall  have  a  curtain  lecture  : 

I'll  make  the  saucy  madam  weep, 

Believe  me,  ere  she  goes  to  sleep. 

I  married  Mary  for  her  beauty, 

And  faith  I'll  make  her  do  her  duty. 

In  the  evening  the'Squire  throws 
himself  on  a  sofa,  from  which  he 
tumbles  and  snores  on  the  floor  :  at 
last  he  goes,  or  rather  is  sent,  to 
bed,  when  the  following  dialogue 
takes  place  between  the  Doctorand 
the  'Squire's  lady: 

Mrs.  Bumpkin. 
"  Since,  my  good  sir,  what  has  ap- 
pear'd, 
Which  you  have  seen  as  well  as  heard, 
You  must  acknowledge  my  complaint 
Doth  ask  the  patience  of  a  saint." 

Syntax. 
"  Excuse  the  liberty  I  take, 
When  thus  I  most  sincerely  speak; 
But  that  same  virtue  would  confer 
Perfection  on  your  character. 
Oh!  let  me  beg  you  to  attend 
To  the  kind  counsels  of  a  friend ! 
The  die  is  cast,  the  deed  is  done, 
The  cord  is  fast  that  makes  you  one  ; 
Though,  if  well  order'd,  I  confess 
I  see  no  bar  to  happiness. 
When  I  perceive  the  nat'ral  state 
Of  reason  in  your  married  mate, 
I  would  consent,  in  word  and  deed, 
That  you,  fair  dame,  should  take  the  lead; 
But  then  employ  your  better  powers 
To  rule  by  sweets,  and  not  by  sours. 
Madam,  the  ancient  proverb  says, 
Which  words  can  never  duly  praise, 


That  one  rich  drop  of  honey  sweet, 
As  an  alluring,  luscious  treat, 
Is  known  to  tempt  more  dies,  by  far. 
Than  a  whole  tun  of  vinegar. 
Ask  with  kind  words,  he'll  ne'er  deny  ; 
Give  winning  looks,  and  he'll  comply, 
With  waken'd  sensibility. 
If  you  but  smile,  and  never  frown, 
He'll  shape  his  wishes  to  your  own: 
Nay,  symptoms  of  obedience  shew, 
Whether  you  do  obey  or  no. 
Thus  blest  with  temper's  cloudless  ray, 
Your  morrow  will  be  like  to-day. 
Oh  !  let  him  not  perceive  you  rule, 
Nor  ever  treat  him  like  a  fool; 
Do  not,  at  least,  to  others  shew, 
If  he  be  such,  you  think  him  so. 
Oh !  ne'er  again  delight  to  tease  him, 
But  look  as  if  you  wish  to  please  him. 
Check  notions,  that  so  idle  prove, 
Of  shepherds  and  Arcadian  love  : 
Your  active,  well  instructed  mind, 
To  such  vagaries  should  be  blind. 
Let  not  vour  fancy  e'er  refine 
Beyond  calm  reason's  fair  design, 
But  leave  to  misses  of  eighteen 
The  raptures  they  from  novels  glean. 
You  surely  have  the  means  to  bless 
Your  life  with  social  happiness; 
And,  oh  !  beware,  you  do  not  spoil 
Your  comforts  with  domestic  broil!" 
Mrs.  Bumpkin. 

"  Doctor,  1  do  admire  your  plan, 
And  I'll  pursue  it,  if  I  can : 
But  as  so  learn'd  you  seem  to  be 
In  all  domestic  policy, 
'Tis  pity  you  do  not  again 
Assume  the  matrimonial  chain." 
Syntax. 

"  Madam,   you've  touch'd   a  tender 
string, 
That  doth  to  my  remembrance  bring 
The  heavy  loss  I  have  sustain'd, 
Of  virtues  ne'er  to  be  regain'd. 
My  dearest  Dolly  was  to  me 
What  I  wish  ev'ry  wife  to  be; 
And  since  the  darling  saint  is  gone, 
I  feel  it  sad  to  he  alone  ; 
But  still  my  doubts  I  cannot  smother, 
Of  ever  getting  such  another." 


296 


MUSICAL   HE  VIEW. 


Mrs.  Bumpkin. 
<f  You  have  my  happiness  in  view, 
And  I  must  feel  the  same  for  you. 
I  have  a  very  pleasing  friend, 
Whom  to  your  thoughts  I  shall  commend ; 
And  if  my  judgment  do  not  err, 
In  form,  and  age,  and  character, 
Dear  Mrs.  Hyacinth  will  prove 
An  object  fit  for  you  to  love. 
She  in  retirement's  peaceful  dell 
Doth  in  her  widow'd  cottage  dwell, 
Though,  if  her  thoughts  to  me  are  known, 
She  wishes  to  live  less  alone. 
Her  mind  employs  the  quiet  hours 
In  study,  and  in  nursing  flowers; 
For,  as  I  hope,   you  soon  will  see, 
She  has  a  taste  for  botany; 
And  her  delight,  as  well  as  glory, 
Is  in  her  gay  conservatory. 
Nor  is  this  all,  for  you  will  find, 
That  wilh  chaste  manners  is  combin'd 
A  well-form'd  and  accomplished  mind. 
At  all  events,  my  friend  mav  call 
To  make  his  bows  at  Tulip  Hall ; 
(For  by  that  name  the  place  is  known, 
Which  she  is  proud  to  call  her  own:) 


While  I,  its  mistress,  will  prepare 
To  give  you  a  kind  welcome  there; 
And  much  I  wish  that  Heaven  may  bless 
My  friends  with  mutual  happiness; 
That  flowers  which  sweetest  fragrance 

breathe, 
May  form  an  hymeneal  wreath, 
With  fairest  hopes  your  life  to  crown, 
When  this  fair  dame  may  be  your  own." 
The  Doctor  promts' d  to  obey, 
And  in  high  spirits  more  than  gay, 
He  joyous  kiss'd  the  lady's  hand, 
And  bade  her  all  his  soul  command. 
Brief  was  the  evening's  calm  repast; 
The  time  of  rest  arriv'd  at  last, 
When  the  sa<ie  pass'd  its  balmy  hours 
Indreamsof  Hymen  crown'd  with  flowers. 

We  with  difficult}'  restrain  our- 
selves from  quoting  more,  but  our 
space  will  not  allow  us  to  indulge 
ourselves   or  our  readers  further. 

In  a  future  number  we  shall  not 
fail  to  give  some  further  specimens 
of  the  third  Tour  of  this  entertain- 
ing adventurer. 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


An  Introduction  to  the  elementary 
Principles  of  Thorough-  B ass  and 
Classical  Music,by  J.  F.  Danne- 
ley. 

Instead  of  adopting  this  very 
comprehensive  title,  Mr.  D.  would 
have  done  better  to  call  this  little 
treatise,  A  concise  view  of  the  na- 
ture and  formation  of  the  major 
and  minor  scales  in  all  the  keys; 
including  directions  for  ascertain- 
ing the  key-note  of  a  musical  com- 
position, illustrated  by  examples, 
and  by  a  brief  analysis  of  Steibelt's 
sonatas,  op.  50.  These  constitute 
the  precise  contents  of  the  publi- 
cation. Of  thorough-bass,  whe- 
ther that  vague  term  be  understood 
to  imply  a  short-hand  system  of  in- 


dicating chords  by  figures,  or  the 
theory  of  chords  itself,  or  the  sci- 
ence of  accompaniment,  or  even 
the  wide  field  of  composition  in 
general,  Mr.  D.'s  book  does  not 
treat.  It  is  true,  he  promises  in 
the  preface  two  further  works  on 
chords,  cadence,  rhythm,  &c. ;  but 
the  one  before  us,  being  a  distinct 
publication,  ought  more  strictly  to 
have  limited  the  title  to  its  actual 
contents. 

With  regard  to  the  matter  actu- 
ally  propounded,  we  observe  in 
Mr.  D.'s  book  a  laudable  degree  of 
method,  and  a  zealous  desire  to 
initiate  the  pupil,  step  by  step,  in 
the  first  rudiments  of  that  branch 
of  music  which  is  confined  to  mere 


MUSICAL  RKV1RW. 


297 


melody.  The  plan  be  lias  adopted 
is  by  question  and  answer.  The 
questions  are  judiciously  arranged 
and  framed  ;  and  the  answers,  in 
general,  appear  satisfactory,  al- 
though occasionally  we  miss  suffi- 
cient precision  and  perspicuity. 
The  definition  of  a  musical  com- 
position, viz.  "  a  correct  combi- 
nation of  two  scales,  viz.  major 
and  minor,"  appears  to  us  rather 
singular  :  it  puts  us  in  mind  of  the 
definition  of  man  by  the  Greek 
philosopher,  who  described  our 
species  to  be  beings  with  two  legs 
and  a  smooth  skin;  upon  which  a 
wag  of  a  disciple  set  loose  a  cock, 
picked  to  the  skin.  Upon  the 
whole,  perhaps,  Mr.  D.'s  definition 
might  as  well  have  been  omitted  al- 
together, and  the  term  scale  clearly 
explained  instead  of  it.  Another 
question,  "  What  constitutes  a 
scale  r"  is  obscurely  answered  : 
"  Every  interval  being  a  tone,  ex- 
cept the  fourth  and  octave."  Here 
the  term  interval  is  confounded 
with  degree.  In  some  few  in- 
stances, we  have  perceived  am- 
biguities, which  might  lead  the 
pupil  into  error.  Of  this  descrip- 
tion is,  among  others,  the  sentence 
}).  7-  which  states  "  the  dominant  or 
fourth  of  a  minor  key  to  become 
tonic  to  the  next."  May  not  this 
be  easily  misunderstood  by  a  be- 
ginner r  Even  if  we  substitute 
"  subdominant"  for  "  4th,"  it  is 
questionable  whether  the  scholar 
will  readily  know,  that  the  domi- 
nant is  for  the  sharp  signatures, 
and  the  subdominant  for  the  flat 
ones.  We  should  forbear  adverting 
to  minor  imperfections  like  these, 
were  it  not  that  in  elementary 
books  the  greatest  precision  and 
Col.  X.  Ac  LIX. 


clearness  are  indispensable  requi- 
sites. 

There  is  a  section  on  "  Enhar- 
monic intervals  in  major  and  mi- 
nor scales."  Whatever  the  mo- 
derns may  wish  to  understand  by 
the.  term  "  enharmonic,"  which 
has  been  engrafted  on  our  system 
from  that  of  the  Greeks,  where  its 
meaning  was  defined,  and  different 
from  that  with  which  we  use  it*, 
we  must  observe  that  neither  the 
major  nor  minor  scale,  in  any  one 
key,  has  an  enharmonic  interval. 
An  interval  is  the  distance  between 
two  sounds ;  and  if  we  have  any  en- 
harmonic intervals,  the  distances 
between  C  sharp  and  D  flat,  D 
sharp  and  E  flat,  &c.  (commonly 
called  enharmonic  diesis),  belong- 
to  that  class.  Mr.  Danneley  con- 
ceives that,  in  the  scale  of  C  sharp 
major,  E  sharp  is  an  enharmonic 
interval.  Here  E  sharp  is  a  ma- 
jor third,  and  a  major  third  has 
nothing  to  do  with  enharmonic. 
No  good  violin-player  would  think 

*  Although  the  enharmonic  genus  of 
the  Greeks  forms  no  part  of  modern  mu- 
sic, a  giimnier  of  it,  we  think,  presents 
itself  occasionally  in  our  compositions. 
For  instance,  let  the  ascending  notes  C 

y 

C  )&,  D,  be  accompanied  by  the  upper 
thirds  E,  E,  F  (a  progression  of  frequent 
occurrence):  although  in  this  insfance, 
no  distinction  is  made  between  the  first 
and  second  E,  even  on  the  violin,  we 
think  the  latter  is  precisely  the  second 
sound  of  the  enharmonic  tetrachord  E, 
E,  F,  A;  i.e.  higher  than  the  first  sound, 
E,  and  lower  than  the  third,  F.  In  exe- 
cuting it  thus  on  a  violin,  or  with  the 
voice,  simultaneously  with  the  lower 
thirds  C,  &c.  a  peculiar,  s'range,  vet 
not  unpleasing  t  iitct  is  produced.  We 
are  aware  that  this  harmony  is  explained 
on  other  grounds  in  modern  science. 
R   R 


298 


MUSICAL    RKVIKW. 


of  calling  that  third  an  enharmo- 
nic interval ;  and  the  imperfection 
of  keyed  instruments,  which  com- 
pels us  to  play  it  on  the  key  of  F 
natural,  does  not  alter  the  matter. 

In  the  5th section,  "  Rules  to  find 
a  key-note,"  Mr.  D.  has  taken  con- 
siderable pains  in  illustrating  the 
object  he  had  in  view  by  the  help 
of  the  dominant  and  characteris- 
tics. In  the  course  of  our  own 
experience  with  learners,  we  ne- 
ver met  with  any  difficulties  in  this 
respect.  The  pupil  knew  from  the 
signature,  that  the  piece  must  be 
either  E  flat  major,  or  C  minor,  we 
will  say :  when  he  had  played  a 
bar  or  two,  he  knew  from  ear,  that 
he  was  playing  in  a  minor  mood, 
and  the  inference  followed  logi- 
cally in  an  instant.  In  the  case  of 
changes  of  key,  the  harmony  was 
made  to  be  the  guide;  the  pre- 
vailing- common  chord,  or  its  in- 
versions,  were  soon  discovered, 
and  we  knew  where  we  were.  To 
ascertain  the  key-note  from  the 
melody  alone,  we  found  to  be  a 
much  more  intricate  attempt  for 
the  pupil ;  there  are  cases  indeed 
where  the  same  melody  may  an- 
swer to  different  keys. 

The  book  concludes  with  a  me- 
lodic analysis  of  six  sonatas  of 
Steibelt,  op.  50.  This  method  of 
illustration  is  so  excellent,  that  we 
regret  the  previous  theoretical  part, 
which  is  confined  to  scales  and 
mere  melod}',  did  not  allow  its  be- 
ing extended  to  harmony  likewise. 
Men  like  Steibelt  do  not  compose 
melodically,butbarmonically ;  that 
is  to  say,  their  ideas  are  imagined, 
and  come  forth  at  once,  with  all 
their  harmony:  perhaps  the  latter 
is  the  parent  of  the  melody  itself 
in  most  instances.     Without  refer- 


ence to  harmony,  any  analysis  is. 
almost  premature,  imperfect,  and, 
indeed,  liable  to  misconceptions. 
Thus,  to  select  one  or  two  instan- 
ces from  the  rondo  in  Son.  1.,  if  Mr. 
D.  will  reconsider  line  6,  he  will 
find  that  neither  bar  3,  nor  the  last 
triplet  of  bar  5,  is  in  G  major,  as 
he  states. 

As  Mr.  D.  proposes  to  enter  up- 
on the  science  of  harmony  in  a  fu- 
ture work,  we  hope  he  will  recur  to 
these  sonatas,  with  a  view  to  give  a 
complete  analysis  of  their  compo- 
sition.    The   path   which   he   has 
found,  to  lead  his  pupils  through 
the  domain  of  the  art,  is  so  good,  so 
practically  useful,  that  it  ought  by- 
all  means  to  be  re-entered,  as  soon 
as  ever  he  shall  have  duly  prepar- 
ed them  for  the  journey. 
"   How  sweet   to    see    young    roses 
blooming,"  a  Ballad,  zcrilten,  and 
adapted  to  a  favourite  Air  bxj  Mo- 
zart, by  D.  A.  O'Meara,   Esq.; 
the   Symphonies  and  Accompani- 
ments   composed    by    N.    Smith. 
Pr.  Is.  fid,  —  (C.    Wheatstone, 
Strand.) 

This,  and  some  previous  adapta- 
tions of  a  similar  nature,  exhibit 
Mr.  O'Meara's  taste  to  advantage. 
In  singing  his  verses  to  melodies 
beforehand  provided  by  classic 
composers,  rather  than  run  the  risk 
of  obtaining  original  compositions 
for  his  labour,  the  chances  are 
greatly  in  his  favour.  In  the  pre- 
sent instance  he  has  been  particu- 
larly successful.  The  air  of  Mo- 
zart from  IS  Enlevement  du  Serail, 
if  we  may  trust  our  memory,  is  one 
of  those  lightsome,  simple,  inno- 
cent, and  graceful  inspirations  of 
genius,  which  fascinate  a  child  as 
well  as  the  adept;  and  the  poetry 
appears — what  may  be  literally  the 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


299 


f.u't — us  if  absolutely  made  for  it. 
Mr.  Smith's  accompaniment  and 
symphony  are  correct  and  apt ; 
here  and  there,  perhaps,  a  little 
too  florid,  considering  the  simpli- 
city of  character.  One  thing,  and 
an  essential  one,  he  has  omitted  : 
it  is  the  indication  of  time.  Few, 
we  fear,  will  take  it  sufficiently 
quick.  It  should  be,  according  to 
the  Metronome,  126  for  crotchets. 
HodsoWs  Collection  of  Duets  for 
tzco  Performers  on  one  Piano- forte. 
No.4S.  Pr.3s.  (Hodsoll,  High 
Holborn.) 

Many  of  the  preceding  num- 
bers of  this  collection  have,  from 
time  to  time,  appeared  in  our  cri- 
tical catalogue;  and  few,  if  any, 
without  some  mark  of  approbation. 
The  work,  as  it  proceeded,  acquir- 
ed additional  interest,  both  from 
the  good  choice  of  the  subjects, 
and  the  merit  of  their  treatment. 
By  a  mixture  of  the  light  and  fan- 
ciful with  pieces  of  the  higher  or-  I 
der,  every  taste  was  suited  in  turn,  i 
The  present  number  is  of  the  lat-  | 
ter  class  ;  it  contains  the  overture 
to  "  LeNozze  di  Figaro,"  arranged 
for  four  hands  by  Mr.  Rimbault. 
Like  other  adaptations  by  this  gen- 
tleman, it  avoids  overcharging  the 
score,  contenting  itself  with  the 
preservation  of  what  is  essential, 
lest  by  exacting  too  much  from 
performers  not  arrived  at  perfec- 
tion, discouragement  might  mar 
their  exertions  and  zeal. 
Mozcn-fs  celebrated  gfand  Sympho- 
ny adapted  for  the  Pianoforte, 
icith  Accompaniments  for  a  Flute, 
Violin,  and  Violoncello  (ad  libi- 
tum), by  S.  F.  Rimbault.  Pr.  6s.; 
without  Accompaniments,  4s. 
(Hodsoll,  High  Holborn.) 


A  careful  inspection  of  the 
adaptation  of  this  symphony  ena- 
bles us  to  speak  of  it  in  unqualified 
terms  of  commendation.  Mr.  11. 
as  he  goes  on  in  his  praiseworthy 
undertaking,  appears  to  us  to  aug- 
ment his  exertions,  and  to  avail 
himself  of  the  accumulating  ex- 
perience which  a  man  of  sense 
cannot  fail  to  store  up  in  the 
course  of  continued  occupation  of 
this  description.  His  piano-forte 
edition  of  Mozart's  Symphonies, 
three  of  which  have  now  appear- 
ed, will  form  a  valuable  addition 
to  the  musical  library.  As  the  ti- 
tle of  the  symphony  before  us  is 
too  general,  a  circumstance  which 
we  have  regretted  on  other  occa- 
sions, we  shall  mention  the  suc- 
cessive movements:  adagio  Eb  | — 
allegro  Eb  i  —  andante  Ab  f — 
minuetto  Eb — allegro  E  b  f- 
"  The  Thanet  Quadrille"  composed 
by  Miss  Harriet  Ann  Madocks, 
and  arranged  as  a  Hondo  for  the 
Pianoforte  by  John  Parry.  Pr. 
Is.  6d.  (Hodsoll,  High  Holborn,) 
The  fair  composer  of  this  quad- 
rille has  modelled  her  motivo  up- 
on that  of  Haydn's  "  Surprise," 
which,  we  are  happy  to  find,  makes 
a  lively  dance  by  being  a  little  me- 
tamorphosed into  |  time.  Mr. 
Parry  has  had  the  gallantry  to  fur- 
ther metamophose  Miss  Madocks's 
quadrille  into  a  rondo  of  light  tex- 
ture, but  sufficiently  sprightly  and 
entertaing  to  merit  all  the  com- 
mendation which  he  can  fairly  claim 
at  our  hands  for  a  production  of 
this  class. 

Three  favourite  Waltzes  for  the  Pi" 
ano-forte,  with  an  Accompaniment 
for  the  Flute  or  I '  io/iu  [ad  libit  urn), 
composed,   cud  inscribed  to  J\ 
R  it  2 


300 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Agassis  of  Layham-Cottage,  Suf- 
folk, by  E.  Frost.     Price  Is.  6d. 
(Metzler&Son,Wardour-street.) 
Among  the  many  waltzes  which 
have  formed  subjects  of  our  critical 
notice,  few  rose  beyond  the  rank  of 
imitations,  or  reminiscences  newlv 

J  j 

strung  together.  The  tune  thrives 
as  little  in  this  country  as  the  dance 
itself.  Indeed  we  have  heard  it 
said  by  a  composer  of  acknowledg- 
ed fame,  that  he  would  rather  write 
a  sonata  than  a  waltz.  Novelty 
and  the  right  tact  and  trim  in  the 
latter  is  no  easy  matter,  and  the  ex- 
perienced pot  -  house  fiddler  in 
Germany  frequently  succeeds  bet- 
ter in  the  compositorial  attempt, 
than  the  grandee  in  the  art  of  coun- 
terpoint; just  the  same  as  in  the 
execution  of  the  dance,  he  would 
beat  hollow  Spohr  or  Vaccari.  Of 
Mr.  Frost's  waltzes,  the  second  and 
third  are  very  fair;  indeed  we  may 
call  them  pretty;  and  the  flute  ma- 
noeuvres are  sprinkled  through  the 
evolutions  of  the  piano-forte  in  a 
fanciful  and  effective  manner.  The 
first  is  the  most  homely,  and  its 
first  part  more  homely  than  the 
rest.  Without  entering  into  the 
theory  of  the  beautiful  in  waltz 
composition,  we  will  just  observe, 
that  to  letawhole  partof  eight  bars 
run  on  in  one  unvaried  motion, 
modelled  upon  the  first  bar,  is  a 
monotony  not  relished  even  in  a 
drum -beat,  which  it  resembles. 
Some  new  idea,  or  some  variation, 
ought  to  intervene  half  way  at 
least.  To  this  observation  the 
subjects  of  all  the  three  waltzes  are 
liable. 

"  The  Zodiac"  a  Series  of 'favourite 
Songs  written  by  S.  Richards  Esq. 
adapted  to  Airs  of  the  most  admir- 
ed Country-Dances  and  Waltzes, 


arranged  with  an  Accompaniment 

for  the  Harp  or  Piano- forte,  by  J. 

Monro.  Nos.  5.  to  10.    Pr.  Is.  6d. 

each.     (Monro,  Skinner-street.) 

The  earlier  parts  of  this  collec- 
tion have  not  come  to  our  notice, 
but  their  nature  is  obvious  from  the 
above  portions.  The  title  is  appo- 
site enough,  every  number  con- 
taining one  song,  more  or  less  re- 
ferring to  the  months  in  the  year. 
Of  the  numbers  before  us,  the 
songs  bear  the  following  titles,  and 
are  adapted  to  the  under- mention- 
ed tunes: 
No.  5.  "  May- day."— Tune:  "  Vou- 

lez  vous  danser,  Mademoiselle  ?'* 
No.  6.  "  The   Rose    in  June."— 

Tune:  Lord  Cathcart's  Welcome 

to  Scotland. 
No.  7.  "  The  Welcome  to  School 

after  the  Holidays." — Tune:  The 

Highland  Laddie. 
No.  8."TheJoys  of  Harvest-home." 

—  Tune:  The  Hungarian  Waltz. 
No.  9.     "  The  Smile  of  Content- 

mentand  Love." — Tune:  Kinloch 

of  Kinloch. 
No.  10.  "The  Bird's  Address  to  the 

Sportsman." — Tune:  Lieber  Au- 

gustin. 

A  vein  of  unassuming  simplicity 

prevails   in    the    poetry   of    these 

songs,  and  thev  are  moreover  dis- 
cs '  ^ 

tinguished  by  the  pure  sentiments 
of  morality  or  innocent  mirth  more 
or  less  to  be  found  in  them.  These 
merits,  and  the  circumstance  of  the 
themes  being  almost  universally 
familiar,  contribute  to  render  "  the 
Zodiac"  eminently  calculated  for 
juvenile  minds.  Mr.  Monro's  har- 
monic arrangement  is  correct  and 
tasteful,  and  some  of  his  sympho- 
nies are  particularly  neat. 
"  The  Evening  Walk"  a  Glee  for  four 
Voices,  sung  at  the  Catch  Club  by 


WAMC 


5 


[ 


LONDON   FASHIONS. 


501 


Messrs.  K>n/velt,  Vaughan,EI/iotf, 
and  the  Author,  composed^  and  in- 
scribed to  the  Rev.  Frederic  Bea- 
do/i,Uy  W,Beale,  Gent,  of  H.  M. 
Phapels  Royal,  1819.  —  Price 
Is.  Gd.  (Birchall,  New  Bond- 
street.) 

The  voices  in  this  glee  in  D  ma- 
jor consist  of  counter-tenor,  two 
tenors  and  bass,  and  the  text  is  by 
Miss  Carter.  The  composition 
presents  a  degree  of  skill  and  good 
taste  very  creditable  to  Mr.  B.  In 
the  outset  of  the  first  movement,  a 
larghetto,  we  could  have  wished 
for  a  greater  predominance  of 
melodic  cantilena — an  observation, 


by  the  way,  which  applies  to  half 
the  glees  on  hand:  but  the  con- 
struction of  the  harmonies,  we  are 
hound  to  own,  is  contrived  in  a 
manner  indicative  of  ?vlr  B.'s ex- 
perience in  the  art,  and  productive 
of  much  effect.  The  successive 
imitations  between  the  two  tenors 
and  alt  (I.  2,  p.  3,)  not  to  mention 
other  passages  of  interest,  may 
serve  as  vouchers  for  this  assertion. 
The  second  movement,  a  siciliana 
in  |-  time,  and  the  concluding  slow 
lines  in  £  time,  display  several  fea- 
tures of  attraction,  and  a  pathetic 
feeling  quite  analogous  to  the  po- 
etry. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON 

PLATE    28. — WALKING   DKKSS. 

A  round  dress  composed  of  pop- 
lin: the  bottom  of  the  skirt  is  fi- 
nished with  a  full  rouleau  of  satin 
to  correspond  ;  over  this  is  a  trim- 
ming composed  of  plaitings  of 
double  gauze  cut  bias,  and  dis- 
posed in  a  scroll  pattern :  the  plait- 
ed edge  is  covered  with  satin  pip- 
ing ;  a  rouleau  of  satin,  somewhat 
smaller  than  that  at  the  bottom,  is 
placed  above  this  trimming.  The 
corsage  is  made  high,  with  a  small 
collar,  which  sits  rather  close  to 
the  neck.  Epaulette,  composed 
of  satin  in  the  form  of  a  wing; 
there  are  two  double  folds,  one  a 
little  smaller  than  the  other.  The 
bottom  of  the  long  sleeve  is  finish- 
ed with  three  narrow  satin  rou- 
leaus, disposed  to  form  points  in 
front  of  the  arm.  The  pelisse  worn 
over  this  dress  is  composed  of  gros 
de  Naples,  of  a  singular  but  verj' 


FASHIONS, 
beautiful  colour,  something  be- 
tvveen  a  lilac  and  a  purple;  it  is 
wadded,  and  the  skirt  is  made  pret- 
ty full:  the  body  is  tight  to  the 
shape;  the  waist,  which  is  of  a 
moderate  length,  is  ornamented  at 
the  bottom  by  a  knot  of  ribbon. 
The  pelerine  is  of  the  same  mate- 
rial as  the  pelisse;  it  is  rounded 
behind,  comes  only  to  the  point  of 
the  shoulder,  and  tapers  down  in 
front  in  a  manner  very  advanta- 
geous to  the  shape.  The  long 
sleeve  is  rather  tight  to  the  arm; 
it  is  finished  at  the  wrist  with  a 
very  full  trimming  of  gros  de  Na- 
ples to  correspond.  The  half-sleeve 
is  very  full,  and  of  a  novel  and 
pretty  form,  for  which  we  must  re- 
fer to  our  print;  as  we  must  also- 
for  the  trimming  of  the  pelisse^ 
which  is  composed  of  the  same 
material,  and  is  extremely  novel 
and  striking :  it  goes  round  the  bot- 


302 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON   FASHION   AND   DRESS. 


torn  and  up  the  fronts  of  the  pe- 
lisse, and  also  encircles  the  pele- 
rine. Head-dress,  a  bonnet  com- 
posed of  the  same  material  as  the 
pelisse,  and  lined  with  white  satin. 
The  brim  is  very  large ;  it  is  finish- 
ed at  the  edge  with  gauze  to  cor- 
respond :  the  crown  is  moderately 
high,  and  is  ornamented  with  a  full 
bouquet  of  flowers  made  of  fea- 
thers, which  corresponds  with  the 
bonnet.  Limeric  gloves,  and  boots 
the  colour  of  the  pelisse. 

PLAT!-    29. — EVENING   DRESS. 

A  white  gros  de  Naples  round 
dress,  ornamented  at  the  bottom 
of  the  skirt  by  a  broad  band  of 
bias  white  satin  disposed  in  deep 
plaits;  this  is  surmounted  by  three 
white  satin  rouleaus,  which  are 
wreathed  with  pearl.  The  corsage 
is  cut  low  round  the  bust ;  it  fast- 
ens behind,  and  the  back  is  full  ; 
the  bust  is  ornamented  with  a  ful- 
ness of  white  satin,  and  tastefully 
intermixed  with  pearls:  the  shape 
of  the  front  is  formed  by  a  white 
satin  stomacher  crossed  with  bands 
of  gros  de  Naples  wreathed  with 
pearl ;  a  pearl  button  is  placed  in 
the  middle  of  each  band,  and  it 
terminates  with  a  double  scollop  at 
the  bottom  of  the  waist.  A  broad 
white  satin  sash  is  disposed  in  folds 
round  the  waist,  and  tied  in  a  bow 
and  long  ends  behind:  the  sleeve 
is  a  mixture  of  white  satin  and  zros 
de  Naples ;  the  first  disposed  in  ir- 
regular puffs,  the  last  forming 
bands  of  a  very  novel  and  pretty 
form ;  they  are  intermixed  with 
pearl :  the  sleeve  is  the  usual  length. 
Hair  dressed  in  light  loose  ring- 
lets, and  much  divided  on  the  fore- 
head ;  the  hind  hair  dressed  low. 
Head-dress,  a  full  garland  of  da- 
mask roses,  placed  rather  far  back 


on  the  crown  of  the  head.  White 
satin  shoes,  and  white  kid  gloves. 
We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
point,  inventress  of  the  corset  a  la 
Grecque,  No.  9,  Henrietta-street^ 
Covent- Garden,  for  both  these 
dresses. 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON 
FASHION  AND   DRESS. 

The  slow  approach  of  the  fa- 
shionable winter  gives  our  ele- 
gantes and  their  marchandes  de  modes 
full  time  for  the  invention  of  new 
fashions.  The  change  produced 
by  the  month  of  November  is,  in 
general,  rather  in  the  material, 
than  in  the  form  of  fashionable 
costume :  this  is  easily  accounted 
for;  most  ladies  of  rank  retire  to 
their  family  seats  till  after  Christ- 
mas. The  youthful  fair  grants 
herself  a  respite  from  the  labours 
of  the  toilet,  while  she  ruminates 
upon  the  triumphs  of  the  past  win- 
ter, and  anticipates  those  of  the 
approaching  one.  Nor  does  the 
more  mature  belle  less  enjoy  the 
short  repose  which  the  season  al- 
lows her  to  snatch  from  the  task 
of  outvieing  her  competitors  in  the 
art  of  inventing  new  fashions,  or 
at  least  of  sporting  them  to  advan- 
tage. Female  genius  is,  however, 
too  inventive  in  the  grand  affairs 
of  the  toilet,  to  suffer  a  month  to 
pass  without  making  some  change : 
we  have  given  a  proof  of  this  in 
the  elegant  dresses  which  our 
prints  present  to  our  fair  subscrib- 
ers. The  pelisse  is  truly  a  winter 
dress,  being  wadded  all  through: 
it  is  generally  thought  that  silk 
pelisses  made  in  a  similar  manner 
will  be  fashionable  during  the 
winter. 

Some  few,  but  as  yet  very  few, 


FRENCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS. 


303 


have  also  been  made  in  cloth  rich- 
ly trimmed  with  fur:  this  last  ar- 
ticle is  expected  to  be  quite  as  fa- 
shionable as  it  was  last  winter. 
The  muffs  now  in  preparation  are 
of  a  large  size,  and  we  have  seen 
several  tippets  of  a  round  shape 
large  enough  to  fall  considerably 
below  the  waist.  We  believe  that 
a  greater  variety  of  furs  than  usual 
will  be  worn,  but  ermine  and  sa- 
ble will  of  course  be  highest  in 
estimation. 

Bonnets  at  present  are  composed 
chiefly  of  gros  de  Naples:  we  have, 
however,  seen  a  few  made  of  those 
rich  silks  which  have  stripes  or 
spots  thrown  up  in  imitation  of  vel- 
vet, and  which  the  French  call 
velours  epiagle,  velours  natte,  &c.  : 
these  bonnets  have  in  general  a 
mixture  of  satin.  The  trimmings 
of  thread  lace,  blond  lace,  &c.  at 
the  edge  of  the  brim,  begin  to  dis- 
appear, and  gauze,  to  correspond 
with  the  bonnet,  is  substituted  in 
its  stead.  Flowers  made  of  fea- 
thers are  the  ornaments  most  in  fa- 
vour for  bonnets;  they  are  in  fact 
the  only  novelty  that  has  appeared 
during  the  month:  plumes  of  fea- 
thers to  correspond  with  the  bon- 
net are  also  worn,  as  are  likewise 
bouquets  of  winter  flowers. 

Muslin  is  now  no  longer  seen 
either  in  morning  or  dinner  dress; 
tabbinets,  poplins,  and  bomba- 
sines are  worn  in  the  former :  they 
are  always  trimmed  either  with  a 
mixture    of  gauze   and   satin,  or 


gauze  and  gros  de  Naples,  to  corre- 
spond with  the  dress.  There  i* 
not  any  thing  novel  either  in  trim- 
mings or  the  form  of  dresses. 

Gros  de  Naples  is  the  material 
I  most  in  favour  for  dinner  or  even- 
ing gowns:  all  kinds  of  this  silk, 
whether  plain,  figured,  or  watered, 
are  fashionable.  Reps  is  also  in 
request.  The  trimmings  are  com- 
posed of  satin  disposed  in  various 
ways,  and  in  some  instances  we 
have  noticed  gauze  bouillonnt  in- 
tersected with  chain  trimming;  the 
chain  is  composed  of  a  plaiting  of 
satin  or  gros  de  Naples. 

Waists  and  sleeves  remain  the 
same  length  as  they  were  last 
month.  Gowns  have  now  been  for 
some  months  past  cut  in  a  very  de- 
corous manner  about  the  bust,  and 
we  hope  they  will  continue  so. 

Half-dress  caps  are  very  much 
in  favour  for  social  parties  ;  they 
are  of  the  demi-cornette  kind,  and 
composed  of  a  mixture  of  satin 
and  net,  or  satin  and  lace;  the 
crowns  are  always  low:  the  head- 
pieces of  some  are  a  little  pointed 
in  front;  many  have  a  profusion 
of  lace  about  the  face;  others  have 
a  fulness  of  lace  quilled  at  the 
edge  of  the  headpiece  to  stand  up. 
These  caps  are  ornamented  with 
winter  flowers  mixed  with  ears  of 
ripe  corn  and  bows  of  ribbon. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  poppy, 
purple,  Provence  rose-colour,  dark 
chesnut,  and  an  infinite  variety  of 
shades  of  rub)',  lavender,  and  lilac. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  Oct.  18. 

Mij  dear  Sophia, 

Promenadr  dress  wears  just 
now  a  very  undecided  appearance  : 


the  garb  of  many  of  our  elegantes 
exhibits  a  singular  mixture  of  sum- 
mer and  winter  costume  ;  we  see 
frequently  spencers,  and  even  pe- 


304 


FRENCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS. 


lisses,  of  black  velvet,  worn  with 
cJiapcanx  of  white  gros  de  Nuples, 
adorned  with  spring  or  summer 
flowers.  Perkale  gowns  also  are 
still  in  request ;  but  Merino,  le- 
vantine,  and  gros  de  Naples  are 
more  worn. 

Pelisses  are  not  yet  general^ 
worn,  spencers  and  shawls  bein^- 
more  in  request :  we  see,  however, 
a  few  pelisses  both  in  velvet  and 
gros  de  Naples,  or  ievantine;  but. 
those  made  of  the  two  latter  ma- 
terials are  not  considered  very  fa- 
shionable. I  saw  one  the  other  day 
composed  of  velours  simule,  a  ma- 
terial which  I  think  will  be  in  great 
request  during  the  winter:  the  co- 
lour was  a  very  bright  ruby,  and 
it  was  lined  with  sarsnet  to  corre- 
spond :  the  skirt  was  rather  scanty, 
and  fastened  in  front  up  to  the 
waist  with  ruby  silk  buttons:  the 
body  was  plain,  extremely  long  in 
the  waist,  and  a  little  sloped  in 
the  front,  so  as  to  display  but  very 
partially  the  Jic/ai,  or  high  dress 
worn  underneath;  the  collar,  which 
stood  up,  was  rounded  a  little  in 
front,  but  very  high  behind.  The 
sleeves  were  rather  straight,  and 
slashed  up  the  front  of  the  arm 
with  ruby  satin  :  the  slashes  are 
long  and  narrow;  they  are  confin- 
ed at  each  extremity  by  buttons  to 
correspond  with  those  on  the  front 
of  the  dress.  The  trimmin°is  com- 
posed  of  two  ruches  of  gros  de  Na- 
ples, between  which  is  a  row  of  sa- 
tin puffs;  it  corresponds  in  colour 
with  the  pelisse.  The  epaulette  is 
extremely  pretty  :  it  consists  of 
ruches  put  close  together  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  form  a  kind  of  dra- 
pery ;  the  effect  of  which  is  whim- 
sical, but  very  elegant:  the  cuff  is 
formed   of  a   broad  full   rouleau 


of  narrow  ruches  disposed  length- 
wise, but  in  bias.  A  broad  sash  of 
bias  satin  to  correspond  finishes 
the  pelisse;  it  ties  at  the  left  side 
in  short  bows;  the  ends  are  long, 
and  one  much  longer  than  the 
other;  they  are  finished  with  Bran- 
denburgs. 

Spencers  are  of  two  kinds  ;  those 
made  high  and  with  collars,  and 
tbose  which  are  only  a  three-quar- 
ter height:  the  first  are  madetio-ht 
to  the  shape;  the  collar  turns  over; 
the  fronts  fasten  with  buttons  to 
correspond;  the  waist  is  peaked  be- 
fore, and  a  very  rich  cord  and  tas- 
sel is  suspended  from  the  peaks. 
The  half-sleeve  has  a  very  ungrace- 
ful effect ;  it  reaches  more  than 
half  way  to  the  elbow:  aplain  band 
encircles  the  middle,  but  the  up- 
per and  lower,  which  are  both  ve- 
ry full,  are  slashed,  to  display  silk 
or  satin,  in  general  white,  beneath. 
The  long  sleeve  is  almost  tight  to 
the  arm;  it  is  finished  at  the  hand 
with  a  single  slash,  which  is  cross- 
ed in  general  by  a  gold  loop  at- 
tached to  a  gold  button  at  each 
side. 

Where  the  spencer  is  cut  low, 
a  shawl  is  thrown  carelessly  over 
it:  these  spencers  are  made  to  re- 
semble a  gown-body;  they  are  cut 
a  three-quarter  height,  and  are  ei- 
ther laced  or  buttoned  behind  ;  in- 
stead of  a  peak,  they  have  a  round 
point  in  front:  they  are  always 
made  tight  to  the  shape,  and  are 
ornamented  with  a  girdle  fastened 
on  the  left  side  with  a  gold  buckle. 
The  half-sleeve  is  made  of  a  piece 
of  the  same  material,  disposed  in 
very  small  puffs,  which  are  turned 
in  various  directions,  and  the  cuff 
corresponds. 

Waists   have  neither  increased 


]  Ki  tf(  II    li  MALK    FASHIONS. 


.305 


nor  decreased  in  length  since  I 
wrote  last.  The  skirts  of  dresses 
•are  now  made  much  wider  at  bot- 
tom ;  but  from  being  so  much  eror- 
ed,  they  are  unbecomingly  tight 
at  the  top.  There  is  no  distinc- 
tion between  the  gowns  used  for 
the  promenade  and  those  worn  in 
dinner  dress  :  this,  however,  will 
not  strike  you  as  so  very  singular ; 
first,  because,  as  you  know,  no  wo- 
man of  any  fashion  can  possibly 
be  seen  in  the  streets  here;  and  in 
this  respect  I  cannot  quarrel  with 
the  mode,  for  certainly,  from  the 
very  wretched  and  inconvenient 
manner  in  which  they  are  paved,  it 
would  be  a  real  penance  to  walk  in 
them  :  secondly,  because,  except 
in  grand  costume,  there  is  little  or 
no  difference  in  the  make  of  gowns, 
a  high  one  beino;  often  worn  in  an 
evening.  You  are  net,  however, 
to  suppose,  my  dear  Sophia,  that 
the  French  ladies  do  not  dress  for 
dinner;  I  mean  merely  to  say,  that 
they  have  not  had  for  a  short  time 
a  distinguishing  style  of  dinner 
dress. 

At  present,  levantine,  grns  de 
Naples,  perkale,  and  Merino  cloth, 
are  all  worn  indiscriminately. — 
Gowns  are  either  made  quite  high 
with  collars,  or  else  a  three-quarter 
height ;  but  I  think  the  latter  are 
most  general:  there  is  very  seldom 
any  trimming  round  the  bust;  the 
long  sash  has  given  place  to  a  gir- 
dle of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress,  which  is  fastened  at  the  side 
by  a  gold  buckle,  or  in  full  dress 
with  one  of  precious  stones.  Em- 
broidery is  now  very  little  used  for 
trimmings  :  we  see  indeed  some- 
times three  flounces  of  very  rich 
work  at  the  bottom  of  a  dress ;  but 
the  most  fashionable  style  of  triin- 

Vol.  X.    No.  LIX. 


ining  is  what  our  marchmides  de 
modes  call  an  imitation  of  yew- 
trees:    it    is  formed    by    flounces, 

which  are  cut  in  separate  pieces, 
and  disposed  in  plaits  one  above 
another;  there  are  six,  each  narrow- 
er and  narrower  till  the  last,  which 
forms  the  top  of  the  trimming,  and 
which  has  not  more  than  two  or 
three  plaits;  there  are  from  twelve 
to  fourteen  of  these  kinds  of  orna- 
ments go  round  the  bottom  of  a 
gown  :  the  broad  part,  intended  to 
represent  the  top  of  the  tree,  is 
turned  downwards.  It  is  very  ne- 
cessary that  one  should  be  told  be- 
forehand what  this  trim  mine  is 
intended  to  represent,  for  in  truth 
the  resemblance  is  not  striking. 

Another  kind  of  trimming  is  a 
chain  formed  of  ribbon,  satin,  or 
sometimes  gros  de  Naples  plaited; 
the  bottoms  of  some  dresses  are 
adorned  with  one  very  broad  row 
of  this  kind  of  trimming,  above 
which,  and  at  some  distance  from 
it,  is  a  narrower  band  of  the  same 
description. 

I  see,  my  dear  Sophia,  that  I 
have  just  made  a  terrible  blunder: 
I  have  finished  my  description  of 
promenade  dress  without  saying 
any  thing  to  you  about  our  cha- 
peaux.  The  materials  of  them  at 
present  are  various  enough:  gros 
de  Naples  is  still  much  worn  ;  a  new 
description  of  phiche  has  just  ap- 
peared, which  promises  to  become 
very  fashionable;  the  silk  is  left 
longer  than  in  the  other  kinds  of 
phiche,  and  has  rather  a  curly  ap- 
pearance :  another  sort  of  phiche, 
which  resembles  granite,  is  also 
much  in  favour.  Satin,  figured 
in  imitation  of  trellis -work,  or 
sometimes  to  resemble  brand 
flowers  or  small  fruits,  begins  to 
S  S 


306 


THL    CELL   OF    ST.  CUTHTUillT. 


be  worn;  and  though  last  not  least 
in  estimation,  is  a  new  kind  of  me- 
tallic gauze,  of  a  singularly  beau- 
tiful quality:  it  is  called  after  dif- 
ferent precious  stones,  to  which  it  is 
similar  in  colour,  as  ruby,  ame- 
thyst, emerald,  and  topaz  gauze. 

Thus  you  see  there  is  no  want  of 
materials;  as  to  the  form,  that  has 
not  varied  since  I  wrote  last.  The 
edges  of  the  brims  of  bonnets  are 
now  adorned  either  with  broad 
bands  of  pluche  or  ruches  of  gros  de 
Naples;  the  top  of  the  crown  is  al- 
so sometimes  bordered  with  a  ruche. 
Flowers  are  still  worn,  but  they  are 
not  in  so  much  estimation  as  they 
were;  the  most  novel  are  composed 
partly  of  cambric,  partly  of  che- 
nille :  wreaths  of  marigolds,  which 
are  very  often  of  four  or  five  differ- 
ent colours,  are  most  in  favour. 
Feathers  are  very  fashionable.  Ma- 
ny chapeaux  composed  of  pluche  are 
fancifully  ornamented  in  front  of 
the  crown  with  satin  or  eros  de  Na- 
pies:  these  hats  have  neither  feathers 
nor  flowers.  Others,  made  of  satin 
or  07-05  de  Naples,  are  trimmed  with 
pluche,  and  have  no  other  ornament. 

I  expected  to  have  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  to  you  about  full  dress, 


but  I  have  been  disappointed.  Gros 
de  Naples,  satin,  and  levantine  are 
the  materials  at  present  in  favour 
for  it;  but  neither  the  make  nor 
trimmings  afford  any  thing  worthy 
of  remark.  Patience,  ma  chere, 
another  month  will  I  hope  enable 
me  to  gratify  your  curiosity  in  this 
respect.  I  had  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  the  most  fashionable  Merino 
gowns  are  those  printed  in  running 
patterns:  camel's  hair,  blue,  or  ches- 
nut,  are  the  colours  most  fashion- 
able for  the  ground  of  these  gowns. 
Rose-colour,  blue,  grey,  and  a 
particularly  pretty  shade -of  lilac, 
which  I  do  not  recollect  ever  to 
have  seen  before,  are  the  colours  at 
present  most  in  favour  ;  but  the 
versatility  of  fashion  in  that  respect 
is  such,  that  some  of  them  may  be 
obsolete  at  the  end  of  a  week.  I 
do  not  think  it  is  more  than  nine 
days  since  there  was  hardly  a  co- 
lour to  be  seen  but  grey  ;  even  rose, 
that  hue  so  delightful  in  a  French 
eye,  suffered  a  temporary  eclipse, 
but  it  is  now  la  couleur  dominante. 
Adieu,  my  dear  friend !  Believe 
me  always  your 

Eudocia. 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Consisting  of  interesting  Extracts  from  new  popular  Publications. 


THE    CELL    OF    ST.  CUTHBERT. 

(From  The  Abbot,  by  the  Author  of  Waverley.) 
(Continued  from  p.  245.) 


Roland  Gu^mi:,  secretly  nursed 
in  the  tenets  of  Rome,  saw  with 
horror  the  profanation  of  the  most 
sacred  emblem,  according  to  his 
creed,  of  our  holy  religion. 

"  It  is  the  badge  of  our  redemp- 


tion," he  said,  "  which  the  felons 
havedared  to  violate  :  would  to  God 
my  weak  strength  were  able  to  re- 
place it — my  humble  strength  to 
atone  for  the  sacrilege  !" 

lie  stooped  to  the  task  he  firs^ 


THE    CELL  OF  ST.  CUTHB1 


307 


meditated,  and  with  a  sudden, and  thy  faith  amongst  heretics— thou 
to  himself  almost  an  incredible  ex-  ,  hast  kept  thy  secret  and  mine  own 
ertion  of  power,  he  lifted  up  the  \l  amongst  thine  enemies.  I  wept 
one  extremity  of  the  lower  shaft  when  I  parted  from  thee — I,  who 
of  the  cross,  and  rested  it  upon  the  .'  seldom  weep,  then  shed  tears,  less 
edo-eof  the  large  stone  which  serv-  j  for  thy  death  than  for  thy  spiritual 
ed  for  its  pedestal.  Encouraged  danger.  I  dared  not  even  see  thee 
by  this  success,  lie  applied  his  .j  to  bid  thee  a  last  farewell— my 
force  to  the  other  extremity,  and,  ;;  grief,  my  swelling  grief,  had  be- 
to  his  own  astonishment, succeeded  trayed  me  to  these  heretics.  But 
so  far  as  to  erect  the  lower  end  of  !  thou  hast  beer,  faithful  —  down, 
the  limb  into  the  socket,  out  of  j  down  on  thy  knees  before  the  holy 
which  it  had  been  forced,  and  to  |  sign,  which  ill  men  injure  and 
place  this  fragment  of  the  image  j  blaspheme;  down,  and  praise  saints 

and  angels  for  the  grace  they  have 
done  thee,  in  preserving  thee  from 
the  leperous  plague  winch  cleaves 
to  the  house  in  which  thou  wert 
nurtured/' 

"  If,  my  mother — so  I  must  ever 
call  you,"  replied  Gramme- — "  if  I 
am  returned  such  as  thou  wouldst 
wish  me,  thou  must  thank  the  care 


upright. 

While  he  was  employed  in  this 
labour,  or  rather  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  he  bad  accomplished 
the  elevation  of  the  fragment,  a 
voice,  in  thrilling  and  well-known 
accents,  spoke  behind  him  in  these 
words  :  "  Well  done,  thon  good 
and  faithful  servant!  Thus  would 
I  again  meet  the  child  of  my  love  il  of  the  pious  father  Ambrose,  whose 
— the  hope  of  my  aged  eyes."  instructions  confirmed  your  early 

Roland  turned  round  in  astonish-  j  precepts,  and  taught  me  at   once 
ment,   and    the    tall    commanding  'j  to  be  faithful  and  to  be  silent." 
form  of  Magdalen   Graeme  stood         "  Be  he  blessed  for  it!"  said  she, 
beside  him.     She  was  arrayed  in  a     "  blessed  in  the   cell    and  in 
sort  of  loose   habit,    in   form   like  j  field,  in  the  pulpit  and  at  the  altar 
that  worn  by  penitents  in  Catholic  j  — the  saints  rain  blessings  on  him  ! 
countries,  but  black  in  colour,  and  '■]  — they  are  just,   and  employ   his 
approaching  as  near  to  a  pilgrim's  |  pious  care  to  counteract  the  evils 
cloak  as  it  was  safe   to  wear  in  a  j  which  his  detested   brother  works 
country  where    the    suspicion    of  I  against  the  realm  and  the  church : 
Catholic  devotion  in  many  places  j  but  he  knew  not  of  thy  lineage  ?" 
endangered  the  sa/ety  of  those  who         "  I  could  not  tell  him,"  answer- 
were   suspected   of  attachment  to  !  ed  Roland,  "  that  myself.     I  knew 
the  ancient  faith.     Roland  Graeme     but  darkly  from  your  words,  that 
threw  himself  at    her  feet.      She:  Sir   Halbert    Glendinning     h 
raised  and  embraced  him  with  af-     mine  inheritance,  and  that  I  am  of 
fection  indeed,    but  not  unmixed  ;   blood  as  noble  as  runs  in  the  veins 
with  a  gravity  which  amounted  al-  ;,  of  any   Scottish  baron  :  these  are 
most  to  sternness.  |:  things  not  to  be  forgotten,  but  for 

.  "  Thou  hast  kept  well,"  she  said,  |j  the  explanation  I  must  now  look  to 
"the   bird    in   thy  bosom.     As  a  [  you." 

boy,  as  a  youth,  thou  hast  held  fast1 !      "And   when    time    suits    thou 

S  s  2 


308 


the  ckll  of  st.  cuthbekt. 


shalt  not  ask  for  it  in  vain.  But  : 
men  say,  my  son,  that  thou  art  bold 
and  sudden  ;  and  those  who  bear 
such  tempers  are  not  lightly  to  be 
trusted  with  what  will  strongly 
move  them." 

"  Say  rather,  my  mother,"  re- 
turned Roland  Graeme,  "  that!  am 
laggard  and  cold-blooded  :  what 
patience  or  endurance  can  you 
require  of  which  he  is  not  capable, 
who  for  years  has  heard  his  religion 
ridiculed  and  insulted,  yet  failed 
to  plunge  his  dagger  in  the  blas- 
phemer's bosom  ?" 

"  Be  contented,  my  child,''  re- 
plied Magdalen  Graeme ;  "  the  time 
which  theh  and  even  now  demands 
patience,  will  soon  ripen  to  that  of 
effort  and  action  :  great  events  are 
on  the  wing,  and  thou — thou  shalt 
have  thy  share  of  advancing  them. 
Thou  hast  relinquished  the  service 
of  the  Lady  of  Avenel  r" 

iL  I  have  been  dismissed  from  it, 
my  mother — I  have  lived  to  be  dis- 
missed, as  if  I  were  the  meanest  of 
the  train." 

"  It  is  the  better,  my  child,"  re- 
plied she;  "  thy  mind  will  be  the 
more  hardened  to  undertake  that 
which  must  be  performed." 

"  Let  it  be  nothing,  then,  against 
the  Lady  of  Avenel,"  said  the  page, 
"  as  thv  looks  and  words  seem  to 
imply.  I  have  eaten  her  bread — 
I  have  experienced  her  favour — I 
will  neither  injure  nor  betray  her." 

"  Of  thathereafter,myson,"  said 
she;  "  but  learn  this,  that  it  is  not 
for  thee  to  capitulate  in  thy  duty, 
and  to  say  this  will  I  do,  and  that 
will  I  leave  undone.  No,  Roland  ! 
God  and  man  will  no  longer  abide 
Use  wickedness  of  this  generation. 
Seest  thou  these  fragments — know- 
est  thou  what  they  represent  ?• — 


and  canst  thou  think  it  is  fit  for  thee 
to  make  distinctions  amongst  a 
race  so  accursed  by  Heaven,  that 
they  renounce,  violate,  blaspheme, 
and  destroy,  whatsoever  we  are 
commanded  to  reverence?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  bent  her  head 
towards  the  broken  image,  with  a 
countenance  in  which  strong  re- 
sentment and  zeal  were  mingled, 
with  an  expression  of  ecstatic  de- 
votion ;  she  raised  her  left  hand 
aloft  as  in  the  act  of  making  a  vow, 
and  thus  proceeded  :  "  Bear  wit- 
ness for  me,  hoi)- saint,  within  whose 
violated  temple  we  stand,  that,  as 
it  is  not  for  vengeance  of  my  own 
that  my  hate  pursues  these  people,, 
so  neither,  for  any  favour  or  earth- 
ly affection  towards  any  amongst 
them,  will  I  withdraw  my  hand  from 
the  plough  when  it  shall  pass  over 
the  devoted  furrow.  Bear  witness, 
holy  saint,  once  thyself  a  wanderer 
and  fugitive,  as  we  are  now — bear 
witness,  mother  of  mercy,  queen  of 
heaven — bear  witness,  saints  and 
angels !" 

In  this  high  strain  of  enthusiasm 
she  stood  raising  her  eyes  through 
the  fractured  roof  of  the  vault  to- 
the  stars,  which  now  began  to  twin- 
kle through  the  pale  twilight, 
while  the  long  grey  tresses  whicli 
hung  down  over  her  shoulders  wav- 
ed in  the  nisdit  breeze  which  the 
chasm  and  fractured  windows  ad- 
mitted freely. 

Roland  Graeme  was  too  much 
awed  by  early  habits,  as  well  as  by 
the  mysterious  import  of  Magda- 
len's words,  to  ask  for  further  ex- 
planation of  the  purpose  she  ob- 
scurely hinted  at ;  nor  did  she  fur- 
ther press  him  upon  the  subject,  for 
having  concluded  her  prayer,  cr 
obtestation,  by  clasping  her  hands 


INTKLLIGTNCT-:,   LfTKRAIlY,  SCIENTIFIC,   &C 


309 


together  with  solemnity,  and  then 
signing  herself  with  the  cross,  she 
again  addressed  her  grandson  in  a 
tone  more  adapted  to  the  ordinary 
business  of  life. 

"  Thou  must  hence,"  she  said, 
"  Roland  ;  thou  must  hence,  but 
not  till  morning.  And  now,  how 
wilt  thou  shift  for  thy  night's  quar- 
ters ?  Thou  hast  been  more  softly 
bred  than  when  we  were  compa- 
nions on  the  misty  hills  of  Cumber- 
land and  Liddesdale." 

"  I  have  at  least  preserved,  my 
good  mother,  the  habits  which  I 
then  learned  — can  lie  hard,  and 
think  it  no  hardship.  Since  I  have 
been  a  wanderer,  I  have  been  a 
hunter,  fisher,  and  fowler ;  and 
each  of  these  is  accustomed  to 
sleep  freely  in  a  worse  shelter  than 
sacrilege  has  left  us  here." 

"Than  sacrilege  has  1  eft  us  here !" 
said  the  matron,  repeating  his  words 
and  pausing  on  them.  "  Most  true, 
my  son ;  and  God's  faithful  chil- 


dren are  now  worse  sheltered,  when 
they  lodge  in  God's  own  house, 
and  the  demesne  of  his  blessed 
saints.  We  shall  sleep  cold  here 
under  the  night  wind,  which  whis- 
tles through  the  breaches  which 
heresy  has  made.  They  shall  lie 
warmer  who  made  them — aye,  and 
through  a  long  hereafter." 

Notwithstanding  the  wild  and 
singular  expressions  of  this  female, 
she  seemed  to  retain  towards  Ro- 
land Graeme,  in  a  strong  degree, 
that  affectionate  and  sedulous  love 
which  women  bear  to  their  nurs- 
lings and  children  dependent  on 
their  care.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
would  not  permit  him  to  do  aught 
for  himself  which  in  former  days 
her  attention  had  been  used  to  do 
for  him,  and  that  she  considered 
the  tall  stripling  before  her  as 
being  equally  dependent  on  her 
careful  attention,  as  when  he  was 
the  orphan  child  who  had  owed  all 
to  her  affectionate  solicitude. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITER 

R.  Ackkkmann  has  in  the  press, 
and  will  shortly  publish,  a  third 
edition  of  the  Second  Volume  of 
The  Tour  (if  Doctor  Syntax  in  Search 
of  the  Picturesque  and  of  Consolation: 
also,  a  new  edition  of  The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  illustrated  with  twenty- 
four  coloured  engravings,  by  T. 
Rowland  son. 

The  following  prospectus  has 
been  issued  by  Sir  Wm.  Adams, 
and  as  we  conceive  it  holds  out  su- 
perior opportunities  of  instruction 
to  the  young  surgeon,  than  is  af- 
forded in  any  similar  institution  in 
this  or  probably  any  other  country, 


ARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 

we  think  it  right  to  give  it  all  the 
publicity  which  is  in  our  power,  and 
therefore  publish  it  verbatim. 

Sir  W.  Adams  having  had  the  ho- 
nour tobe  nominated  by  his  Majes- 
ty's government  to  superintend  the 
Institution  appropriated  to  the  re- 
ception of  the  Blind  Pensioners  be- 
longing to  the  Army,  Navy,  and 
Artillery,  has  felt  it  a  duty  to  lay 
open  to  the  profession  at  large  his 
improved  modes  of  treating  these 
patients.  With  this  view,  he  pub- 
lished, in  the  beginning  of  March 
1818,  a  general  invitation  to  the 
profession,  to  witness  his  opera- 


10 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITHRAKY,  SCIENTIFIC,    &C, 


tions  and  practice  upon  these  pen- 
sioners; which  invitation  has  been 
answered  by  the  attendance  of  se- 
veral hundreds  of  professional  gen- 
tlemen, both  civil  and  military. 
During  the  same  period,  Sir  Wm. 
Adams  has,  from  time  to  time,  de- 
livered short  courses  of  clinical 
lectures,  in  which,  after  describing 
the  operations  and  modes  of  prac- 
tice hitherto  employed  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  diseases  under  consi- 
deration, he  has  pointed  out  their 
defects,  and  explained  b}'  what 
means  these  defects  might  be  ob- 
viated.  On  fixed  days,  he  has  per- 
formed his  operations  in  presence 
of  the  professional  visitors,  exhi- 
bited to  them  his  modes  of  treat- 
ment, and  upon  every  occasion 
has  particularly  directed  their  at- 
tention to  the  results.  Those  re- 
sults are  now  before  the  public. 
This  mode  of  proceeding  having 
obtained  the  approbation  of  those 
who  attended  the  government  bos- 
pital,  and  having  received  nume- 
rous applications  from  the  pupils, 
Sir  Wm.  Adams  has  formed  a  re- 
gular school  for  teaching  ophthal- 
mic surgery.  The  government  es- 
tablishment of  itself,  however,  be- 
ing insufficient  for  this  purpose 
(the  cases  of  the  pensioners  being 
almost  exclusively  of  the  chronic 
kind),  a  dispensary  in  its  vicinity, 
for  the  admission  of  the  poor  in 
civil  life,  has  been  established, 
where  ample  opportunity  is  afford- 
ed of  shewing  the  various  acute 
forms  of  disease.  To  render  the 
school  complete,  Sir  W.n.  Adams 
further  proposes  to  deliver  lec- 
tures   on    the   theory   and   treat- 


ment of  all  the  important  diseases 
of  the  eye,  in  which  it  will  be  his 
particular  care,  whenever  a  prac- 
tice differing  from  the  usual  rou- 
tine is  recommended,  to  refer  all 
the  points  of  difference  to  the  test 
of  practical  effects,  produced  un- 
der the  inspection  of  the  pupils. 

A  new  edition  of  Walton  and 
Cotton's  Complete  Angler\s  prepar- 
ing for  the  press  by  Mr.  Bagster. 
It  will  be  printed  in  a  pocket 
size,  with  entirely  new  embellish- 
ments; Wale's-  designs  for  the  edi- 
tion of  1760  will  be  engraved  upon 
a  reduced  scale,  as  well  as  the  por- 
traits of  Walton  and  Cotton.  Other 
fresh  prints  from  the  real  scenery 
of  both  parts  of  the  work  will  be 
introduced ;  and  amongst  them,  an 
exterior  View  of  the  Palace  of 
Theobalds  in  its  perfect  state,  from 
an  ancient  painting.  This  edition 
will  be  accompanied  by  new  Lives 
of  Walton  and  Cotton  ;  and  great 
improvements  and  additions  will 
be  made  to  the  notes  throughout. 
The  representations  of  the  fish, 
with  numerous  smaller  embellish- 
ments, will  be  cut  in  wood.  It 
will  be  published  under  the  care  of 
the  gentleman  who  edited  the  last 
edition. 

On  the  1st  of  December  will  be 
published,  the  prospectus  of  a  new 
work,  to  be  called  Physiognomical 
Portraits:  to  consist  of  plates  and 
letter-press  ;  the  former  to  be  en- 
graved in  the  line  manner  by  the 
first  artists  of  this  country,  so  as 
to  form  first-rate  specimens  of  Bri- 
tish art,  and  to  rival  the  most  ce^ 
lebrated  productions  of  the  Con- 
tinent. 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  S73,  Strand. 


the 


JkeposWorp 


of 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  fyc. 

THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


December  1,  18-20. 


N°-  LX. 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  page 

I.  Frontispiece. 

'2.  A  Fountain  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .311 

3.  Dr.  Lang's  School  at  Wackerbarthsruhe,  near  Dresden       .         .  322 

4.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress       ...  ......  364 

5.  Full  Dress      .....         .....  365 

6.  View  of  Geneva  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .         .37  1 

7.  Patterns  in   Black  and  White   for  Inlaid  Work. 


CONTENTS. 


- 


PAGE 
Hint?  on    Ornamental  Gardening.  —  A 
Fountain 311 

MISCELLANIES. 

Singularities  observed  by  various  Na- 
tions in  their  Repasts. — The  Maldivian 
Islanders — the  Philippine  Islanders  — 
the  Chinese — the  Otaheitans — the  In- 
dians of  Brazil — the  American  Indians 
— the  Tartars — the  Kamscbatskans    .     312 

Account  ofThomas  Britton,  the  Musical 
'  Small-Coal-Man 314 

Playing-Cards,  their  Origin  and  Em- 
ployment (continued  from  p.  253)  .     .  317 

A  Dream 320 

Account  of  the  School  conducted  by  Dr. 
C.  Lang  at  Wr^kerbarthsruhe,  uear 
Dresden,  in  Saxony 322 

All  right  at  last 325 

Character  of  Charles  I.  and  his  Patron- 
age of  the  Arts. — Anecdote  from  At- 
kyns's  Original  and  Growth  of  Print- 
ing—his Collection  ofPaintings — Van- 
derdort,  his  Catalogue — Albano — Si- 
mon Vouet — Yandyck — Bernini — the 
Cartoons  of  Raphael 330 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu. — Her 
Septennial  Bill  for  the  Benefit  of  mar- 
ried Persons — Anecdote  regarding  her 
Marriage — her  Acquirements,  &c.      .  333 

Sentimental  Travels  in  the  South  of 
France,  Letter  XXIV 335 

Origin  of  Parnell's  Hermit 340 

Anecdotes  Literary,  Historical,  and  Per- 
sonal.— QueenElizabeth — Antipathies 
— Death-watches — Marriage  Ceremo- 
nies among  the  Caribbees — Tobacco- 
Michael  Angelo 343 


PAGE 

Tameamea  King  of  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
and  his  Court,  from  Lieutenant  Otto 
von  Kotzebue's  Narrative  of  his  Voy- 
age     34G 

The  Female  Tattler.— No.  LX.       .     .     .  354 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Sor's  Three  Italian  Arietts,  dedicated  to 
Mrs.  Leshmere  Russell 357 

Steii.'s  "  La  Prima  vera'' 300 

"  Oh  !    wear  for  ine,  my  love"    .    .  301 

Danneley's  "  Paliuodia  a  Nice"  .     .     .     t7>. 

Rimbault's  Airs  and  Chorusses  selected 
from  "  II  Flauto  Magico"     ....  362 

Pi/rkis's  "  Hear,  hear  my  prayer"  .     .     ib. 

Frost's  Hibernian  Rondo  for  the  Piano- 
forte        363 

Blackshaw's  Three  WaLzes  for  the  Pi- 
ano-forte       ib. 


FASHIONS. 

London    Fashions.  —  Ladies'    Walking 


Di 


364 

Ladies'  Full  Dress 365 

General  Observations  on    Fashion    and 

Dress *&• 

French  Female  Fashions 367 


Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon. — 
View  of  Geneva 371 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC      .     .     . 


ib. 


Index 373 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


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A    <& ARBEIT   FOITIfTAOf 


Jir?6oof<~  .-POStTOJtYofJRTS.;'. 


THE 


&eposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  8$c. 

THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  X. 


December  1,  1820. 


]\°  LX. 


HINTS  ON  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENING. 

(Continued  from  page  249.) 
PLATE    31. — A    FOUNTAIN. 

in  most  cases  be  introduced  with 
propriety;  it   being    that   part   of 


Fkvv  architectural  embellish- 
ments have  so  interesting  an  effect 
as  the  fountain,  and  being  capable 
of  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  de- 
sign, situation,  and  magnitude,  it 
is  rather  a  matter  of  surprise  that 
their  beauties  have  been  neglected 
ever  since  the  general  abandon- 
ment of  them  nearly  a  century  ago. 
At  that  time,  certainly  their  whim- 
sical and  profuse  introduction  in 
all  places  suitable  and  otherwise, 
naturally  satiated  the  taste,  and 
for  a  time  was  altogether  fatal  to 
their  farther  cultivation;  but  since 
they  have  been  almost  extirpated 
so  long  from  our  country,  the  mo- 
tive which  affected  it  is  surely  ba- 
nished also,  and  they  may  again 
very  properly  meet  with  encourage- 
ment, and  succeed  to  some  of  the 
patronage  by  which  far  less  valu- 
able materials  are  now  fostered. 

When  a  supply  of  water  is  ade- 
quate and  natural,  fountains  mav 

?ol.  X.  No.  LX. 


their  artificialness  which  implies 
scarcity  of  water,  and  manual  la- 
bour in  effecting  a  display  of  its 
powers,  that  is  offensive  to  true 
taste;  and  surely  it  must  be  most 
painful  to  witness  such  a  display, 
when  it  is  known  that,  to  produce 
it,  a  poor  fellow,  hid  in  sonic  nook 
of  the  premises,  is  pumping  most 
lustily,  and  anxious!}' wishing  you 
would  turn  your  attention  to  some 
other  object,  that  his  labours  may 
be.  over.  It  was  formerly,  however, 
no  uncommon  thing  to  witness  ex- 
tensive displays  at  the  expense  of 
proportionate  and  laborious  means. 

The  annexed  design  is  simple 
in  its  form,  and  consequently  li- 
mited in  its  show  of  water;  but  if 
its  jet  were  amply  supplied,  the 
overflow  of  the  tables  would  pro- 
duce the  effect  desired. 

Designs   of  this   kind    are 
T  T 


312 


SINGULARITIES   OF   VARIOUS   NATIONS   IN   THEIR    REPASTS'. 


usually  manufactured  in  artificial 
stone,  or  sculptured  in  Portland 
stone ;  as  they  were  formerly  of 
lead,  the  convertibility  of  which 
valuable  metal  undoubtedly  assist- 
ed in  the  rapid  disappearance  of 
fountains  so  soon  as  they  fell  into 
disrepute.     The  present  rage  for 


cast  iron  will  probably  supersede 
the  use  of  such  leaden  works,  and 
as  iron  would  offer  no  premium 
for  their  demolition,  they  may  be 
expected  to  enjoy  a  longer  tri- 
umph of  fashionable  importance 
in  our  gardens. 


MISCELLANIES. 


SINGULARITIES  OBSERVED  BY  VARIOUS  NATIONS  IN 
THEIR  REPASTS. 


Tin:  philosophical  compiler  of 
IJ  Esprit  des  Usages  et  des  Continues, 
has  furnished  the  greater  part  of 
the  present  article. 

The  Maldivian  islanders  eat 
alone.  They  retire  into  the  most 
hidden  parts  of  their  houses;  and 
they  draw  down  the  cloths  that 
serve  as  blinds  to  their  windows, 
that  they  may  eat  unobserved. 
This  practice  probably  arises  from 
the  savage,  in  the  earlier  periods  of 
society,  concealing  himself  to  eat: 
he  fears  that  another,  with  as  sharp 
an  appetite,  but  more  strong  than 
himself,  should  come  and  ravish 
his  meal  from  him.  Besides,  the 
ideas  of  witchcraft  are  widely 
spread  among  barbarians;  and 
they  are  not  a  little  fearful  that 
some  incantation  may  be  thrown 
among  their  victuals. 

In  noticing  the  solitary  meal  of 
the  Maldivian  islander,  another 
reason  may  be  alleged  for  this  Mis- 
anthropical repast.  They  never 
will  eat  with  any  one  who  is  infe- 
rior to  them  in  birth,  in  riches, 
or  dignity;  and  as  it  is  a  difficult 
matter  to  settle  this  equality,  they 
are  condemned  to  lead  this  unso- 
ciable life. 


On  the  contrary,  the  islanders 
of  the  Philippines  are  remarkably 
social.  Whenever  one  of  them 
finds  himself  without  a  companion 
to  partake  of  his  meal,  he  runs 
till  he  meets  with  one;  and  we  are 
assured,  that  however  keen  his  ap- 
petite may  be,  he  ventures  not  to 
satisfy  it  without  a  guest. 

The  tables  of  the  rich  Chinese 
shine  with  a  beautiful  varnish,  and 
are  covered  with  silk  carpets  very 
elegantly  worked.  They  do  not 
make  use  of  plates,  knives  and 
forks;  every  guest  has  two  little 
ivory  or  ebony  sticks,  which  he 
handles  very  adroitly. 

The  Otaheitans,  who  are  lovers 
of  society,  feed  separately  from 
each  other.  At  the  hour  of  repast, 
the  members  of  each  family  divide ; 
two  brothers,  two  sisters,  and  even 
husband  and  wife,  father  and  mo- 
ther, have  each  their  respective 
basket.  They  place  themselves  at 
the  distance  of  two  or  three  yardg 
from  each  other;  they  turn  their 
backs,  and  take  their  meal  in  pro- 
found silence. 

The  custom  of  drinking  at  dif- 
ferent hours  from  those  assigned 
for    eating,    is    to    be    met    with 


SINGULARITIES    OF    VARIOUS    NATIONS    IN    Tfll.IU    K.U'ASTS. 


313 


amongst  many  savage  nations.  It 
was  originally  began  from  neces- 
sity. It  became  a  habit, which  sub- 
sisted even  when  the  fountain  was 
near  to  them.  "A  people  trans- 
planted," observes  our  ingenious 
philosopher,  "  preserve  in  another 
climate,  modes  of  living-  which  re- 
lat<  to  those  from  whence  they  ori- 
ginally tame.  It  is  thus  the  Indi- 
ans of  Brazil  scrupulously  abstain 
from  eating  when  they  drink,  and 
from  drinking  when  they  eat." 

When  neither  decency  nor  po- 
liteness are  known,  the  man  who 
invites  his  friend  to  a  repast  is 
greatly  embarrassed  to  testify  his 
esteem  for  his  guests,  and  to  pre- 
sent them  with  some  amusement; 
for  the  savage  guest  imposes  on 
him  this  obligation.  Amongst  the 
greater  part  of  the  American  In- 
dians, the  host  is  continually  on  the 
watch  to  solicit  them  to  eat,  but 
touches  nothing  himself.  In  New 
France,  he  wearies  himself  with 
singing  to  divert  the  company 
while  they  eat. 

When  civilization  advances,  we 
wish  to  shew  our  confidence  to  Girl- 
friends; we  treat  them  asrelations  • 
and  it  is  said  that  in  China,  the 
master  of  the  house,  to  give  a  mark 
of  his  politeness,  absents  himself 
while  his  guests  regale  themselves 
at  his  table  with  undisturbed  re- 
velry. 

The  demonstrations  of  friend- 
ship in  a  rude  state  have  a  savage 
and  rude  character,  which  it  is  not 
a  little  curious  to  observe.  The 
Tartars  pull  a  man  by  the  ear  to 
press  him  to  drink,  and  they  con- 
tinue tormenting  him  till  he  opens 
Ids  mouth.  It  is  then  they  clap 
their  hands  and  dance  before  him. 

No  customs  seem  more  ridicu- 


lous than  those  practised  by  aKam- 
schatskan,  when  he  wishes  to  make 
another  his  friend.  He  first  in- 
iiim  to  eat.  The  host  and  his 
guest  strip  tb  •;  in  a  cabin, 

which  is  heated  to  an  uncommon 
e.  While  the  guest  devours 
the  food  with  which  they  serve 
him,  the  other  continually  stirs  the 
fire.  The  stranger  must  bear  the 
excess  of  the  heat  as  well  as  of  the 
repast.  He  vomits  ten  times  he- 
fore  he  will  yield;  but  at  length, 
obliged  to  acknowledge  himself 
overcome,  he  begins  to  compound 
matters.  He  purchases  a  moment's 
respite  by  a  present  of  clothes  or 
dogs,  for  his  host  threatens  to  heat 
the  cabin,  and  to  oblige  him  to  eat 
till  he  dies.  The  stranger  has  the 
right  of  retaliation  allowed  him: 
he  treats  in  the  same  manner,  and 
exacts  the  same  presents.  Should 
his  host  not  accept  the  invitation 
of  his  guest  whom  he  has  so  hand- 
somely regaled,  he  would  come  and 
inhabit  his  cabin  till  he  had  ob- 
tained from  him  the  presents  he 
had  in  so  singular  a  manner  given 
to  him. 

For  this  extravagant  custom  a 
curious  reason  has  been  alleged. 
It  is  meant  to  put  the  person  to  a 
trial  whose  friendship  is  sought. 
The  Kamtschadale  who  is  at  the 
expense  of  the  fire  and  of  the  re- 
past, is  desirous  to  know  if  the 
stranger  has  the  strength  to  sup- 
port pain  with  him,  and  if  he  be 
generous  enough  to  share  with  him 
some  part  of  his  property.  "While 
the  guest  is  employed  on  his  meal, 
he  continues  heating  the  cabin  to 
an  insupportable  degree;  and  for  a 
last  proof  of  the  stranger's  constan- 
cy and  attachment,  he  exacts  more 
clothes  and  more  dogs.  The  host 
T   T    -' 


314 


ACCOUNT   OF   THOMAS   BRITTON, 


passes  through  the  same  ceremo- 
nies in  the  cabin  of  the  stranger, 
and  he  shews,  in  his  turn,  with  what 
degree  of  fortitude  he  can  defend 
his  friend.  It  is  thus  the  most  sin- 
gular customs  would  appear  sim- 
ple, if  it  were  possible  for  the  phi- 
losopher to  contemplate  them  on 
the  spot. 

As  a  distinguishing  markof  their 
esteem,  the  Negroes  of  Ardra  drink 
out  of  one  cup  at  the  same  time. 
The  king  of  Loango  drinks  in  one 
house  and  eats  in  another.  A  Kam- 


tschadale  kneels  before  his  guest; 
he  cuts  an  enormous  slice  from  a 
sea-calf;  he  crams  it  entire  into 
the  mouth  of  his  friend,  furiously 
cryingout  Tana!— There— and  cut- 
ting away  what  hangs  about  his 
lips,  snatches  and  swallows  it  with 
avidity. 

A  barbarous  magnificence  at- 
tended the  feasts  of  the  ancient 
monarchs  of  Fiance.  After  their 
coronation  or  consecration,  when 
they  sat  at  table,  the  nobility  serv- 
'  ed  them  on  horseback. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THOMAS  BRITTON,  THE  MUSICAL  SMALL- 
COAL-MAN. 


Mr.  Editor, 

I  dart-:  say  some  of  your 
readers  have  been  struck,  as  I  was 
the  other  day,  by  the  following  pas- 
sage in  Sir  R.  Steele's  144th  Guar- 
dian :  "  Every  mechanic  has  a  pe- 
culiar cast  of  head  and  turn  of  wit, 
or  some  uncommon  whim,  or  a 
characteristic  that  distinguishes 
him  from  others  in  his  trade, as  well 
as  from  the  multitudes  that  are  up- 
on a  level  with  him.  We  have  a 
smail-coal-man,  who,  from  begin- 
ning with  two  plain  notes  which 
make  up  his  daily  cry,  has  made 
himself  master  of  the  whole  com- 
pass of  the  gamut,  and  has  fre- 
quent concerts  of  music  at  his  own 
house  for  the  entertainmentof  him- 
self and  friends."  I  was  not 
aware  until  lately  that  this  man, 
whose  name  was  Thomas  Britton, 
had  made  so  much  noise  in  the 
world  at  the  time,  as  I  found,  up- 
on  consulting  various  authorities, 
he  had  done;  and  I  according- 
iy  se|  n?yselt  to  collect  some  par- 
ticul  .ding  hjs  life  and  ha- 

bits,, which  are  very  much  at  your 


service,  and  I  am  sure  will  be  en- 
tertaining. 

He  was  born  at  Higham-Ferrers 
in  Northamptonshire,  but  at  what 
date  has  not  been  ascertained  ;  it 
was  probably  about  the  year  1650, 
where  he  remained  until  he  was 
about  twelve  years  old,  when  he 
came  to  London,  and  was  bound 
apprentice  to  a  hawker  of  small 
coals.  There  seems  to  have  been 
an  apprehension  of  rivalship  on 
the  part  of  his  master,  who,  at  the 
end  of  his  time,  gave  him  a  sum  of 
money  to  return  into  the  country, 
and  not  to  set  up  against  him  in  his 
trade.  Britton,  however,  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  very  scrupu- 
lous, for  as  soon  as  the  money  was 
spent,  he cameback  to  London,  and 
commenced  business  for  himself  in 
the  small-coal  line.  He  appears 
always  to  have  had  a  turn  for  che- 
mistry, and  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  celebrated  Dr.  Garaniere, 
who  lived  in  his  neighbourhood, 
he  obtained  a  great  deal  of  know- 
ledge upon  the  subject,  and  fur- 
nished for  himself,  with  the  aid  of 


ACCOUNT    OF  THOMAS    MUTTON. 


315 


his  friend,  a  small  laboratory, 
where  he  performed  many  singu- 
lar experiments,  that  astonished  all 
his  acquaintances. 

What  gave  him  originally  his 
fondness  for  music  is  not  known, 
but  being  able  to  read,  he  bought 
and  borrowed  a  great  many  books 
upon  the  subject,  and  made  him- 
self a  considerable  master  of  the 
science,  both  in  theory  and  prac- 
tice. His  favourite  instrument  ap- 
pears to  have  been  the  violoncello, 
and  certain  it  is  that  he  gave  con- 
certs over  his  coal-shed  in  a  large 
room,  the  only  entrance  to  which 
was  by  a  ladder  on  the  outside,  and 
miserably  furnished,  excepting  with 
instruments.  Hughes,  a  poet  of 
no  very  mean  name,  was  frequent- 
ly a  performer  there  on  the  violin, 
and  has  left  behind  him  the  follow- 
ing lines  upon  Britton  : 

('  Though  low  thy  rank,  yet  in  thy  humble 

cell 
Did  gentle  peace  and  arts  unpurchas'd  dwell : 
Well  pleas'd,  Apollo  thither  led  his  train, 
And  music  warbled  in  her  sweetest  strain. 
Cyllenius  so,  as  fables  tell,   and  Jove, 
Came  willing  guests   to  poor   Philemon's 

grove. 
Let  useless  pomp  behold,  and  blush  to  find, 
So  Iowa  station,  such  a  liberal  mind." 

It  has  been  also  asserted,  that 
Handel  himself  in  his  earlier  days, 
before  the  patronage  of  princes 
made  him  haughty  and  dignified, 
condescended  to  perform  in  tins 
room;  but  Mr.  Chalmers,  without, 
however,  assigning  any  sufficient 
reason,  is  of  a  different  opinion. 
It  is  very  clear  that  his  musical 
parties  became  notorious,  and  in 
time  were  frequented  by  the  dilet- 
tanti of  various  kinds,  and  especial- 
ly musical  amateurs,  who  are  said 
(and  most  likely  truly)  to  have  per- 
formed some  first -rate  pieces  over 
Britton's  coal-shed.  Dubour;];,  one 


of  the  most  celebrated  musicians, 
here  exhibited  his  powers  for  the 
first  time  mounted  upon  a  stool, 
for  he  was  then  not  high  enough  to 
be  seen.  It  has  been  supposed 
that  Britton's  were  the  first  con- 
certs, properly  so  called,  given  in 
this  kingdom;  and  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins,  in  his"  History  of  Music,"  has 
given  strength  to  the  opinion:  but 
it  has  since  been  pretty  evidently 
shewn  that  he  was  mistaken,  and 
that  concerts  were  known  as  early 
as  the  rei^n  of  Charles  I.  In  the 
time  of  Charles  II.  they  were  not 
uncommon. 

Britton's  turn  for  chemistry  has 
been  already  mentioned,  and  he 
carried  this  pursuit  to  a  great 
extreme.  He  was  a  believer  in 
the  existence  of  the  philosopher's 
stone,  though  the  elixir  of  life 
does  not  seem  to  have  made  a  part 
of  his  faith.  Like  Friar  Bacon, 
he  was  a  Rosicrusian;  and  it  is  re- 
peated, that  he  exhausted  not  a 
few  of  his  small  coals  in  the  se- 
crets of  alchemy;  but,  like  all  his 
predecessors,  never  accomplishing 
the  transmutation  of  metals  far- 
ther than  the  change  of  his  own 
mone}T  expended  in  his  fruitless 
endeavours. 

During  the  greater  part  of  his 
life,  he  continued  to  cry  his  small 
coals  about  the  streets  of  the  me- 
tropolis. Steele  informs  us,  that 
he  continued  to  do  so  in  1713, 
which  was  only  one  year  before  his 
death.  He,  notwithstanding,  pur- 
sued several  other  occupations, 
and  among  them,  that  of  a  collect- 
or of  old  books  and  manuscripts 
on  music,  chemistry,  including  al- 
chemy, and  various  branches  of 
philosophy.  It  may  be  seen  by 
1  the  long  list  supplied  by  Sir  J. 


318 


ACCOUNT   OF   THOMAS    BItlTTOtf. 


Hawkins,  that  he  had  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  printed  music,  and  some  of 
it  very  valuable.  It  would  scarce- 
ly he  believed,  if  we  had  not  po- 
sitive proof  of  the  fact,  that  he  was 
an  intimate  acquaintance  of  the 
Earls  of  Oxford,  Pembroke,  Sun- 
derland, and  Winchelsea,  and  of 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  The  fact 
is,  that  all  these  noblemen  were 
collectors  of  old  books  on  the  arts, 
sciences,  and  poetry;  and  they  em- 
ployed Britton  to  look  out  among 
the  stalls  for  them,  which  he  did 
when  he  went  his  rounds  with  his 
small  coals.  The  noblemen  them- 
selves employed  every  Saturday  in 
the  same  way,  appointing  a  ren- 
dezvous at  some  bookseller's  shop, 
where  Britton  used  to  meet  them 
with  an  account  of  his  success:  he 
was  a  diffident,  well-behaved  man, 
and  was  permitted  to  join  in  the 
conversation,  although  in  his  black 
dress,  and  with  a  sack  of  small- 
coal  pitched  at  the  door.  The  fol- 
lowing- passage  regarding-  him  is 
worth  extracting  from  Lord  Or- 
ford's"  Anecdotes  of  Painters:"  he 
is  speaking  of  Woolaston: 

"Besides  painting,  lie  perform- 
ed on  the  viol  in  and  flute,  and  play- 
ed at  the  concert  held  at  the  house 
of  that?  extraordinary  person  Tho- 
mas Britton,  the  small-coal^man, 
whose  picture  he  twice  drew;  one 
of  which  portraits  was  purchased 
hy  Sir  Plans  Sloane,  and  is  now  in 
the  British  Museum.  There  is  a 
mezzotinto  from  it.  Thomas  Brit- 
ton, who  made  much  noise  in  his 
time,  considering  his  low  station 
and  trade,  was  a  collector  of  all 
sorts  of  curiosities,  particularly 
drawings,  prints,  books,  MSS.  on 
uncommon  subjects,  as  mystic  di- 


vinity, the  philosophers  stone,  ju- 
dicial astrology,  and  magic;  and 
musical  instruments,  both  in  and 
out  of  vogue.  Various  were  the 
opinions  concerning-  him  :  some 
thought  his  musical  assembly  only 
a  cover  for  seditious  meetings; 
others  for  magical  purposes.  He 
was  taken  for  an  atheist,  a  Presby- 

!  terian,  a  Jesuit.  But  Woolaston 
the  painter,  and  the  father  of  k 
gentleman  from  whom  I  received 
this  account,  and   who  were   both 

'  members  of  the  music  club,  assured 
him  that  Britton  was  a  plain  simple 
honest  man,  who  only  meant  to 
amuse  himself.  The  subscription 
was  but  ten  shillings  a  year  :  Brit- 
ton found  the  instruments,  and 
they  had  coffee  at  a  penny  a  dish. 
Sir  Hans  Sloane  bought  many  of 
his  books  and  MSS.  (now  in  the 
Museum)  when  they  were  sold  by 
auction  at  Tom's  coffee-house  near 
Ludgate." 

Whether  he  had  any  family  is 
not  mentioned  ;  but  his  wife  lived 
for  some  years  alter  his  death, 
which  was  very  singular,  and  some- 
what premature.  His  excessive  su- 
perstition made  him  the  laughing- 
stock of  many  of  his  friends,  and  a 
justice  of  the  peace  of  the  name 
of  Robe,  who  appears  to  have  been 
fond  of  playing  tricks,  one  night 
brought  into  the  room,  unknown  to 
Britton,  a  ventriloquist,  who,  in  a 
voice  appearing  to  come  from 
above,  announced  that  Britton  was 
approaching  his  end,  and  com- 
manded that  he  should  instantly 
fall  down  on  his  knees  and  pray. 
The  poor  mail  did  so  with  great 
fervour,  being  well  persuaded  that 
he  was  addressed  by  some  super- 
natural being;  and  though  thecheat 


PIAYINO-CARIJS. 


317 


was  afterwards  avowed  to  him,  he 
nevec  was  able  to  overcome  the 
shock,  and  within  a  week  lie  died 


of  the  fright  he  had  received.  His 
music,  books,  and  curiosities  were 
sold  in  1713.  F.  F. 


PLAYING-CARDS,  THEIR  ORIGIN  AND  EMPLOYMENT. 

(Continued  from  p.  2S3.) 


Tiir  early  specimens  of  playing- 
cards  that  have  been  produced 
differ  very  little  in  their  form  from 
those  now  used.  This  form  is  cer- 
tainly the  most  convenient  for  the 
purposes  assigned  to  them,  and 
has  been  most  generally  adopted  : 
we  shall,  however,  prove  that  it 
was  subject  to  variation.  The  fi- 
gures and  devices  that  constitute 
the  different  suits  of  the  cards  seem 
eminently  to  have  depended  upon 
the  taste  and  invention  of  the  card- 
makers;  and  they  did  not  bear  the 
least  resemblance  to  those  in  pre- 
sent use. 

It  has  been  observed,  that  out- 
lines made  upon  blocks  of  wood 
were  stamped  upon  the  cards,  and 
afterwards  filled  up  by  the  hand; 
but  soon  after  the  invention  of  en- 
graving upon  copper,  the  devices 
were  produced  by  the  engraver, 
and  sufficiently  finished,  so  that  the 
impressions  did  not  require  any 
assistance  from  the  pencil.  It  ap- 
pears also,  that  the  best  artists  of 
the  time  were  employed  for  this 
purpose.  A  set  or  pack  of  cards 
of  a  very  curious  description  was 
in  the  possession  of  the  late  Dr. 
Stukeley  :  the  four  suits  upon  them 
consisted  of  bells,  of  hearts,  of 
leaves,  and  of  acorns;  by  which 
the  doctor  imagined  were  repre- 
sented the  four  orders  of  men 
among  us:  the  bells  are  such  as 
are  usually  tied  to  the  legs  of  the 


hawks,  and  denoted  the  nobility; 
the  hearts  were  intended  for  the 
ecclesiastics;  the  leaves  alluded  to 
the  gentry  who  possess  lands,  woods, 
manors,  and  parks;  the  acorns  sig- 
nified the  farmers,  peasants,  wood- 
men, park-keepers,  and  hunters. 
But  this  definition  will,  I  trust,  be 
generally  considered  as  a  mere  ef- 
fusion of  fancy.  It  is  remarkable 
that  in  these  cards  there  are  nei- 
ther queens  nor  aces,  but  the  for- 
mer are  supplied  by  knights;  the 
latter  have  no  substitute.  The  fi- 
gured cards,  b}'  us  denominated 
court  cards,  were  formerly  called 
coat  cards;  and  originally,  I  ima- 
gine, the  name  implied  coated  fi- 
gures, that  is,  men  and  women  who 
wore  coats,  in  contradistinction 
to  the  other  devices  of  flowers  and 
animals  not  of  the  human  species. 
The  pack  or  set  of  cards  in  the 
old  plays  is  continually  called  a 
pair  of  cards,  which  has  suggested 
the  idea,  that  anciently  two  packs 
of  cards  were  used,  a  custom  com- 
mon enough  at  present  in  playing 
atquadrilleand  whist;  onepackbe- 
ing  laid  by  the  side  of  the  player 
who  is  to  deal  next  time.  But  this 
supposition  rests  entirely  upon  the 
application  of  the  term  itself,  with- 
out any  other  proof  whatever*. 

*  And  seems  indeed  to  be  entirely 
overturned  by  a  passage  in  a  very  old 
play,  entitled  "  The  linger  thou  livest 
the    more   Foole    ibou   art;"    in   which 


318 


PI..AYIXG-CAKDS. 


Primero  is  reckoned  among  the 
most  ancient  games  of  cards  known 
to  have  been  played  in  England  : 
each  player,  we  are  told,  had  four 
cards  dealt  to  him  one  by  one;  the 
seven  was  the  highest  card  in  point 
of  number  that  he  could  avail  him- 
self of,  which  counted  for  twenty- 
one,  the  six  counted  for  sixteen, 
the  five  for  fifteen,  and  the  ace  for 
the  same;  but  the  two,  the  three, 
and  the  four,  for  their  respective 
points  only.  The  knave  of  hearts 
was  commonly  fixed  upon  for  the 
quinola,  which  the  player  might 
make  what  suit  he  pleased :  if  the 
cards  were  of  different  suits,  the 
highest  number  won  the  primero; 
if  they  were  all  of  one  colour,  he 
that  held  them  won  the  flush. 

Prime,  mentioned  by  Sir  John 
Harrington  in  his  satirical  descrip- 
tion of  the  fashionable  court 
games,  a  modern  writer  thinks  was 
not  the  same  as  primero  ;  but  he 
has  not,  however,  specified  the 
difference  between  them.  The 
poet  says: 

The  first  game  was  the  best,  when,  free  from 

crime, 
The  courily  gamesters   all  were   in   their 

prime. 

Trump,  a  game  thus  denomi- 
nated in  the  old  plays,  is  perhaps 
of  equal  antiquity  with  primero, 
and  at  thelatterend  of  the  sixteenth 
century  was  very  common  among 
the  lower  classes  of  people.  Dame 
Chat,  in  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle, 
saystoDicon,"  Webe  setat  trump, 
man,  hard  by  the  fire ;  thou  shalt 

Idleness  desires  Moros  the  clown  "to  look 
at  his  booke,"  and  shews"  him  a  paier  of 
cardes." — Garrick's  Collect,  vol.  I.  IS. 
In  a  comedy  called  "  A  Woman  killed 
with  Kindness,"  a  pair  of  cards  and 
counters  to  play  with  are  mentioned. 


set  upon  the  king."  Trump  is 
thought  to  have  borne  some  resem- 
blance to  the  modern  game  of 
whist. 

Gresco  is  mentioned  in  conjunc- 
tion with  primero  in  the  comedy 
of  Eastward  Hoe:  "  He  would  play 
his  hundred  pounds  at  gresco  and 
primero  as  familiarly  as  any  briglit 
piece  of  crimson  of  them  all." 

Sir  John  Harrington,  after  hav- 
ing mentioned  prime,  proceeds  to 
enumerate  the  games  that  succeed- 
ed, in  the  following  manner: 

The  second  game  was  post*,  until  with  post- 
ing 

They  paid  so  fast,  'twas  time  to  leave  their 
boasting. 

Then  thirdly  follow'd  heaving  of  the  maw, 

A  game  without  civility  or  law, 

An  odious  play,  and  yet  in  court  oft  seen 

A  saucy   knave  to  trump  both  king  and 
queen. 

Then  follow'd  lodamf 


Now  noddy  follow'd  next ■ 

The  last  game  now  in  use  is  bankeroutj, 
Which  will   be  play'd   at  still,    I  stand   in 

doubt, 
Until  lavalta  turn  the  wheel  of  time, 
And  makes  it  come  about  again  to  prime. 

Gleek  is  mentioned  with  pri- 
mero in  Green's  "  Tu  quoque," 
where  one  of  the  characters  pro- 
poses to  play  at  twelvepenny  gleek, 
but  the  other  insists  upon  making 
it  for  a  crown  at  least. 

Coeval  with  gleek,  we  find  mount 
saint,  or  more  properly  cent§.  This 

*  Called  also  post  and  pair. 

-j-  Called  St.  Lodarn  by  Mr.  Barring- 
ton,  I  know  not  upon  what  authority, 
Archmologia,  ut  supra. 

X  Perhaps  the  same  with  bankafelt 
mentioned  in  "  The  Complete  Gamester." 

§  In  Spanish  cientos,  or  hundred,  the 
number  of  points  that  win  the  game. 
Thus  in  a  play  called  'The  Dumb  Knight,' 
the  queen  says  of  this  game,  "The  game 
is  taken  from  hundreds;"  and  afterwards 
to  Philccles,  "  You  are  a  double  game, 


PiAYiNQ-CAJiDS 


.)19 


game,  which  was  played  hy  count-  j 
ing,  probably  did  not  differ  much 
from  picquet,  or  picket,  as  it  was 
formerly  written,  said  to  have  been 
introduced  into  France  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
New  cut  is  mentioned  in  an  old 
play  written  by  Thomas  Hey  wood*, 


ten,  whisk,  is  a  game  now  held  in 
high    estimation.      At    the    com- 
mencement of  last  century, accord- 
ing to  Swift,  it  was  a  favourite  pas- 
time with  clergymen,  who  played 
j  the   game    with    swabbers:    these 
j  were    certain   cards  by  which  the 
1  holder  was  entitled  to  part  of  the 


where  one  of  the  characters  says,  stake,  in  the  same  manner  that  the 
"  If  you  will  pla}'  at  new  cut,  I  il  claim  is  made  for  the  aces  at  quad- 
am  soonest  hitter  of  any  one  here  j!  rille.  "Whist,  in  its  present  state  of 
for  a  wager."  |J  improvement, mayproperlybecon- 

Knave  out  of  doors  occurs  also     sidered  as  a  modern  game,  and  was 


in  the  same  play,  together  with 
ruff,  which  is  proposed  to  be  play- 
ed with  honours:  double  ruff  and 
English  ruff  with  honours  are  men- 
tioned in  "  The  Complete  Game- 
ster!," and  distinguished  from 
French  ruff. 

Lansquenet  is  a  Freuch  game, 
and  took  its  name  from  the  Lans- 
quenets, or  light  German  troops, 
employed  by  the  Kings  of  France 
in  the  fifteenth  century. 

Basset,  said  by  Dr.  Johnson  to 


not,  says  a  very  intelligent  writer, 
pla}'ed  upon  principles  till  about 
fifty  years  ago-,  when  it  was  much 
studied  by  a  set  of  gentlemen  who 
frequented  the  Crown  coffee-house 
in  Bedford-row. 

To  the  gamesalready  mentioned, 
we  may  add  the  following :  put, 
and  the  high  game;  plain  dealing, 
wit  and  reason,  costly  colours,  live 
cards,  bone  acet,  queen  nazareen, 
lanterloo,  pennuch,  art  of  memo- 
ry, beast,  cribbage,  and  all  foursj. 


have  been  invented  at  Venice,  was  ;j  Crimp,  mentioned  in  the  Spectator, 
a  very  fashionable  game  towards  !j  I  take  to  be  a  game  played  with  the 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  cen-|  cards;  and  one  might  be  led  to 
tury;  and  ombre,  brought  into  Eng-  || think  the  same  of  roulet  by  the 
land   by   Catherine   of   Portugal, 


queen  to  Charles  II.  The  modern 
game  of  quadrille  bears  great  ana- 
logy to  ombre,  with  the  addition 
of  a  fourth  player,  which  is  cer- 
tainly a  great  improvement. 

Whist,  or  as  it  was  formerly  writ- 

and  I  am  no  less ;  there  is  a  hundred :"  and 
all  cards  made  but  one  knave. — Written 


*  This  paper  was  published  A.  B. 
1787;  and  the  author  says,  that  the  first 
mention  he  finds  of  the  game  of  whist  is 
in  the  Beaux  Stratagem,  a  comedy  hv 
George  Farquhar,  published  A.  I).  1707. 
He  also  thinks  whist  might  have  originat- 
ed from  the  old  game  at  trump.  Gal- 
grave  explains  the  French  word  triomphe 
in  this  manner,  the  game  called  ruif  or 


•      r       •     i\t     i  •  ■   t  a  a    rk    i  «r\o    'trump;  also  t  he  i  ;uff  or  trump  in  it 

by  Lewis  Machin ;  printed  A.  D.  1008.   |  ^'  ' 


— See  also  Mr.  Barrington  ut  supra. — 
Picket  is  mentioned  in  Flora's  Vagaries, 
printed  in  1670,  and  said  to  be  played 
with  counters. 

*  "  A  Woman  killed  with  Kindness." 
Third  edition,  1617. 

f  Published  1674. 

Vol  X.  Nu.  LX. 


f  Perhaps  this  may  be  the  same  as  the 
game  called  ace  of  hearts,  prohibited, 
with  all  lotteries  by  cards  hi  dice. 

j  Nearly   all    the    above'- mentioned 
games  may  be  {ouv.(\  in  a  small  book  en- 
titled ''The  Complete  Gamesier,"  with 
the  directions  how  to  plav  them. 
U  u 


520 


A    DRMAM. 


wording  of  the  act  by  which  it  is 
prohibited*. 

*  An.  1 8  Geo.  II.  The  words  are, 
"  And  whereas  a  certain  pernicious 
game  called  roulet,  or  rolypoly,  is  daily 


practised :"  the  act  then  stales,  that  "  rio 
place  shall  he  kept  for  playing  at  t he 
said  t;ame  of  roulet,  or  rolypoly,  or  any 
other  came  with  cards  or  dice,"  &c. 


Mr.  Editor, 

Br-iNGthe  other  day  in  high 
spirits,  because  I  had  just  finished 
a  work,  which  I  intend  to  call  "  A 
brief  Plan  to  pay  the  National 
Debt,"  and  which,  as  it  is  pretty 
voluminous,  has  employed  me  for 
a  long  time,  I  determined  to  give 
myself  a  holiday ;  and  having  taken 
an  early  dinner,  I  set  out  from  my 
lodgings  at  Islington  to  Drury-lane 
Theatre,  to  see  Kean  in  a  favourite 
character. 

My  purse  contained  just  four 
shillings,  which  was  all  the  money 
I  possessed.  This  circumstance 
gave  me  very  little  concern,  for  I 
had  no  doubt  that  my  plan  to  pay 
the  national  debt  would  effectually 
recruit  my  own  finances:  I  set  off 
therefore  in  high  spirits,  consider- 
ing as  I  went  in  what  way  I  could 
most  advantageously  place  the 
price  of  my  work.  On  reaching 
the  pit-door  and  presenting  my 
money,  the  door-keeper  returned 
one  of  my  shillings,  with  an  obser- 
vation that  it  was  a  French  Monsieur, 
and  on  looking  at  it,  I  saw  that  it 
was  actually  and  bou&Jide  a  franc  of 
the  year  1810. 

Pride  forbade  my  making  any 
effort  to  obtain  admission,  I  there- 
fore took  my  money  and  walked 
away,  vexed  and  mortified  more 
than  the  matter  deserved.  Un- 
willing to  return  home,  I  strolled 
into  a  neighbouring  coffee-house, 
and  called  for  a  dish  of  coffee;  in 


A    DREAM. 

paying  for  it  I  threw  upon  the  table 
the  unlucky  cause  of  my  disap- 
pointment, and  examined  atten- 
tively the  head  of  Napoleon  with 
which  it  was  stamped. 

Neither  the  ex-emperor,  nor  the 
great   nation    so   lately  under    his 
sway,  had  ever  stood  very  high  in 
my  good  graces,  -and   the    disap- 
pointment which  I  had  just  expe- 
rienced, made  me  heartily  inclined 
to  quarrel  with  both.     I  continued 
looking  at  the  franc,  and  indulging 
in  a  mental   invective    against  the 
French  and  their  idol,  till   I  drop- 
ped asleep  ;when  my  thoughts  still 
remaining  in  the  same  direction,  I 
fancied  that  my  philippic  was  in- 
terrupted  by  the  word  mere,  pro- 
nounced in  a  low  but  extremely  in- 
dignant tone.  I  paused,  and  looker! 
around  to  see  from  whom  the  voice 
proceeded  :  to  my  very   great  as- 
tonishment, I  found   it  came  from 
the  franc,  which,  indignant  at  the 
insults  offered  to  its  country,  itself, 
and  Napoleon  le  Grand,  began  in 
French    a    voluble    harangue,    of 
which    the  following    is   the  sub- 
stance : 

"Ah,  Heaven  !  to  what  degrading 
vicissitudes  am  I  exposed  !  I,  who 
was  first  introduced  into  the  world 
under  the  happiest  auspices,  and 
who  enjoy  the  glory  of  bearing  the 
impress  of  the  august,  the  invinci- 
ble Napoleon  !  yes,  I  have  had  the 
honour  to  touch  that  hand  which 
swayed  the  destinies  of  Eu rope,  and, 


A    DKIAAI. 


551 


though  never  actually  in  liis  own 
possession,   1  have   moved   in  the 

circle  of  his  splendid  court.  I  low- 
great  did  I  think  my  humiliation 
when  I  descended  from  that  bril- 
liant sphere,  to  become  the  com- 
panion of  less  exalted  person; 
and  how  little  did  I  then  foresee  the 
possibility  that  I  should  one  day  be 
transported  to  a  barbarous  little 
island,  where  my  services  would  be 
useless;  .where,  instead  of  the  re- 
spect and  veneration  my  features 
ought  to  meet  with,  they  would  he 
regarded  with  a  malignant  scowl, 
or  a  sneer  of  contempt;  and  where, 
as  the  very  climax  of  my  wretch- 
edness, I,  who  have  served  princes 
and  nobles,  should  become  the 
despised  property  of  a  scribbling 
garreteer  !" 

The  franc  had  worked  itself  into 
such  a  rage,  that  the  last  words  of 
his  speech  were  scarcely  articulate. 
Though  I  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing  at  its  gasconade,  vet  as  I 
am  not  ill-natured,  I  turned  my 
thoughts  to  console  it  if  I  could. 
To  all  appearance,  thisfranc  seem- 
ed to  partake  largely  of  the  spirit 
of  its  country,  and  I  knew  that  if  its 
nature  were  truly  French,  the  rea- 
diest way  to  make  it  forget  its  mis- 
fortunes, would  be  to  give  it  an  op- 
portunity of  relating  them.  I  apo- 
logized therefore  in  civil,  and  even 
flattering  terms,  for  the  invective 
into  which  my  disappointment  had 
betrayed  me  :  the  franc  accepted 
my  excuses  with  true  French  ur- 
banity, and  readily  promised  to 
comply  with  my  request  to  relate 
its  adventures. 


"  As  the  English,"  said  the  franc, 
in  a  very  serious  tone,  "  are,  with 
all  their  foibles,  a  reflecting  and 
philosophic  people,  I  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  dazzle  you  by  boasting, 
as  I  might  do,  of  the  remote  anti- 
quity of  my  origin,  nor  of  the  ad- 
vantages I  enjoy  of  being,  with  one 
exception,  composed  of  the  noblest 
of  metals.  I  leave  these  idle  boasts 
to  such  of  my  fellows  as  are  not, 
like  myself,  superior  to  vain  glory. 
As  to  me,  I  shall  say,  in  the  words 
of  my  illustrious  master,  that  I 
wish  to  owe  my  nobility  only  to  the 
French  people.  In  a  word,  sir,  I 
desire  to  be  valued  solely  accord- 
ing to  the  use  which  I  have  made 
of  my  many  opportunities  of  ac- 
quiring useful  knowledge,  just 
habits  of  thinking,  and  a  thorough 
insight  into  the  genius  and  charac- 
ters of  mankind  ;  and  from  the  ob- 
servations I  shall  have  the  honour 
to  make  to  you  in  the  course  of  my 
narrative,  you  will  soon  see  that 
my  judgment,  sagacity,  and  pene- 
tration do  not  deserve  to  be  lightly 
estimated." 

The  modest  tone  in  which  the 
franc  delivered  this eulogium upon 
itself  completely  conquered  my 
gravity;  I  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of 
laughter,  which  awoke  me,  and  as 
the  remembrance  of  my  dream  was 
fresh  in  my  memory,  I  determined 
to  try  if  you,  sir,  would  give  it  a 
corner  in  the  Repository :  by  so 
doing  you  will  oblige 

Your  very  humble  servant, 

E. 


U  V  2 


322 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  SCHOOL  CONDUCTED  BY  DOCTOR 

CHARLES  LANG 


At  Wackerbarthsruhe, 

"Without  entering  upon  the 
question  of  the  propriety  or  policy 
of  a  foreign  education  for  English 
youth,  we  admit  that  there  are  be- 
nefits attending  it  which  are  well 
worthy  of  consideration;  though, 
in  our  opinion,  they  are  more  than 
balanced  by  various  disadvantages. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  we  know  that 
many  parents  prefer  sending  their 
children  abroad  for  instruction, 
under  the  idea  of  their  acquiring 
foreign  languages  in  higher  per- 
fection, as  well  as  from  motives  of 
econom}*,  to  which  the  late  pres- 
sure of  the  times  has  called  the  se- 
rious attention  of  numerous  fami- 
lies. To  those  who  are  disposed 
to  feel  this  predilection,  and  par- 
ticularly to  such  as  are  at  a  loss  for 
an  eligible  situation  for  boys,  we 
recommend  the  perusal  of  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  an  institution 
near  the  metropolis  of  Saxony, 
where  the  education  of  youth  is 
conducted,  not  as  a  trade  for  the 
mere  profit  to  be  derived  from  it, 
but  with  a  thorough  conviction  of 
the  important  duties  attached  to  so 
sacred  a  charge. 

Dr.  Charles  Lang,  in  compli- 
ance with  a  powerful  internal  im- 
pulse, devoted  himself  in  1810  to 
the  scholastic  profession,  and  with 
a  single  pupil  fixed  his  residence 
at  Tharand,  about  twelve  miles 
from  E,  His  undertaking 

prosper'.  w  ithstan ding  the 

calamitous  years  of  war  which  fol- 
lowed, and  in  which  troops  of  all 
nations  were  quartered  upon  him, 
his  establishment  increased  to  such 
a  decree,  that  he  found  it  neccs- 


nenr  Dresden,  z'jj  Saxony. 

sary  to  remove  to  a  more  spacious 
I  house,  and  gradually  to  hire  vari- 
ous buildings  contiguous  to  the 
latter.  These  in  their  turn  became 
too  confined  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  his  pupils,  who  by  this 
time  amounted  to  thirty-six,  and 
for  the  library,  the  museum  of  na- 
tural history,  and  the  collection  of 
philosophical  and  mathematical  in- 
struments, which  were  constantly 
receiving  fresh  accessions.  At  this 
juncture,  the  mansion  and  estate 
of  Wackerbarthsruhe,  about  eight 
miles  from  Dresden,  was  advertised 
for  sale,  and  by  the  assistance  of 
some  generous  friends,  Dr.  Lang 
was  enabled  to  purchase  this  pro- 
perty in  February  1816.  To  this 
place,  which  was  peculiarly  adapt- 
ed for  his  purpose,  he  completed 
the  removal  of  his  institution  in 
May  following.  Here  the  number 
of  pupils  was  soon  augmented  to 
upwards  of  fifty,  who  receive  in- 
struction from  nine  resident  teach- 
ers, besides  the  master. 

Wackerbarthsruhe  is  situated 
very  near  to  the  high-road  from 
Dresden  to  Leipzig,  in  a  country 
not  surpassed  in  fertility  and  beau- 
t}f  of  scenery  by  any  part  of  Sax- 
ony. It  was  built  about  a  century 
ago  by  a  Count  Wackerbarth,  af- 
ter whom  it  is  named:  but  from 
the  multiplicity  of  his  titles  and 
offices,  it  may  justly  be  questioned, 
whether  he  enjoyed  much  repose 
(ruhej  here.  Two  alleys  of  lime- 
trees  lead  from  the  high-road  to 
an  area  covered  with  gravel,  which 
serves  the  pupds  for  exercise  and 
play.     The  house  itself  is  a  spa- 


3 

03 


r3 


I 


0 

< 


DR.    LANG'S   SCHOOL. 


323 


cious,  handsome  building ;  the  a- 
partments  and  windows  are  lofty, 
and  there  are  two  elegant  stone 
staircases  up  to  the  very  roof  ;_a 
circumstance  of  no  trifling  conse- 
quence in  case  of  accidents.  In 
the  centre  of  the  area  before  the 
garden  front  is  a  basin  of  water, 
with  a  copious  fountain,  surround- 
ed by  green  turf.  The  area  itself 
is  encircled  with  beds  of  flowers, 
and  bordered  on  the  right  and  left 
with  cool,  embowered  walks;  be- 
yond these,  on  either  side,  are  the 
gardens  of  the  pupils,  each  of 
whom  has  his  own  bed,  which  he 
cultivates  as  he  pleases.  The  open 
spot  round  the  fountain  is  devoted 
to  gymnastic  sports  and  exercises. 

Under  the  windows  of  the  prin- 
cipal building,  on  the  side  next  to 
the  garden,  are  beds  of  flowers, 
which  are  kept  in  order  b}*  some 
of  the  teachers.  On  either  hand, 
long  walks  of  tall  shady  trees, 
which  afford  shelter  even  in  wet 
weather,  conduct  to  the  other  parts 
of  the  gardens.  On  the  left  is  an 
octagonal  building  appropriated 
to  the  purpose  of  a  bath;  and  on 
the  right,  an  oval  structure  of  larger 
size,  containing  a  spacious  room 
adapted  for  exercise  in  winter,  and 
for  a  dancing  and  fencing  school. 

In  the  rear  of  the  dwelling- 
house,  at  ;i  suitable  distance,  are 
other  buildings  of  considerable  ex- 
tent. That  on  the  right  contains 
apartments  for  the  teachers,  and 
some  of  the  servants,  the  ward- 
robe, wine-press,  &c.  Behind  this 
edifice  is  the  kitchen-garden,  and 
under  it  a  very  spacious  wine-cel- 
lar. The  building  on  the  left  con- 
tains apartments  for  others  of  the 
domestics,  the  kitchen,  laundry, 
bake-house,  store-rooms,  and  other 
requisite  offices. 


In  the  principal  structure,  be- 
sides several  spacious  halls,  are 
the  dwelling  and  school-rooms  of 
the  pupils ;  contiguous  to  which 
are  the  apartments  of  the  master, 
and  some  of  the  teachers.  In  the 
upper  story  are  the  dormitories, 
two  of  which  are  very  spacious, 
each  holding  the  beds  of  twenty- 
five  pupils  and  two  teachers;  whilst 
one  teacher  and  some  of  the  old- 
est scholars  sleep  in  a  third,  which 
is  smaller. 

Before  the  back  front  of  the 
house  is  the  orchard,  laid  out  in 
terraces  rising  successively  one 
above  another,  and  bordered  with 
the  choicest  species  of  fruit-trees. 
Beyond  these  terraces  is  level 
ground;  on  either  side  of  which 
is  a  large  open  arbour,  where  the 
pupils  occasionally  sup  on  fine 
summer  evenings.  Here  is  an- 
other basin,  filled  by  an  artificial 
spring,  which  issues  from  the  foun- 
J  dationof  a  beautiful  octagon  build- 
ing, containing  a  single  hall,  sur- 
mounted with  a  turret  and  cupola, 
in  which  are  fixed  a  clock  and  two 
large  bells,  which  are  indispen- 
sably necessar}'  for  persons  who 
are  obliged  to  pay  strict  attention 
to  the  division  of  their  time.  This 
hall  was  adorned  at  a  great  ex- 
pense with  paintings  by  Baron  Gre- 
gory, one  of  the  latest  possessors, 
to  whom  indeed  the  whole  property 
is  indebted  for  many  capital  im- 
provements. This  edifice  is  set 
apart  for  the  chapel  of  the  insti- 
tution, which  is  provided  with  an 
organ,  and  is  spacious  enough  to 
hold  two  hundred  persons. 

The  prospect  from  the  front  of 
this  building  over  the  valley  wa- 
tered by  the  Elbe,  is  truly  magni- 
ficent: it  extends  far  beyond  Dres- 
den,   and   comprehends    Meissen. 


524 


DR.    LANG'S   SCHOOL. 


Peaceful  villages  are  thickly  scat- 
tered far  and  near;  while  at  the 
distance  of  about  a  mile,  flows  the 
majestic  Elbe,  bordered  on  one 
side  by  woody  hills,  and  on  the 
other  by  delicious  fields.  The 
beautiful  Saxon  capital  is  seen  dis- 
tinctly in  the  back-ground,  which 
is  closed  by  the  view  of  Konig- 
stein,  Libi ostein,  and  other  re- 
markable buildings  of  Saxon  Switz- 
erland. Just  behind  the  chapel  is 
a  hill  covered  with  the  oldest  vine- 
yard in  the  whole  country,  stocked 
bv  its  former  possessors  with  the 
best  sorts  of  vines.  The  hill  shel- 
ters the  domain  from  the  north 
wind,  and  the  vineyard  is  celebrat- 
ed for  the  excellence  of  the  wine 
which  it  produces.  Convenient 
steps  and  baths  lead  to  its  summit, 
which  commands  a  highly  diversi- 
fied prospect,  including  the  course 
of  the  Elbe  for  many  miles,  the 
capital  with  its  beautiful  churches 
and  steeples,  the  distant  moun- 
tains of  Bohemia,  and  on  the  other 
side,  the  city  of  Meissen,  with  num- 
berless intermediate  picturesque 
objects.  A  wall  2320  feet  long 
incloses  the  whole  property,  the 
immediate  environs  of  which  are 
remarkably  agreeable.  The  prox- 
imity of  the  Elbe  affords  abundant 
facilities  for  bathing  and  learning 
to  swim ;  while  very  extensive 
ponds,  from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile 
distant,  enable  the  pupils  to  en- 
joy in  winter  the  favourite  amuse- 
ment of  skating. 

In  regard  to  externals,  therefore, 
this  institution  seems  to  combine 
every  thing  that  could  be  wished  ; 
and  its  internal  arrangements,  as 
displayed  in  the  rules  and  regu- 
lations, which  are  read  to  every 
new-comer  at  a  solemn  meeting  of 
all   the   pupils    and,   teachers,    and 


subscribed  by  him,  appear  to  be 
most  judiciously  calculated  to  pro- 
mote the  morals,  the  health,  and 
the  intellectual  improvement  of  the 
young  student. 

The  languages  taught  here,  be- 
sides the  Greek  and  Latin,  are, 
German,  English,  French,  Italian, 
and  Polish.  The  other  branches 
of  instruction  embrace  religion,  in 
which  department  provision  is  made 
for  the  children  of  Catholic,  pa- 
rents; mathematics  in  all  its  brant  li- 
es, natural  philosophy,  history,  ge- 
ography, natural  history,  music, 
dancing,  drawing,  fencing,  and 
equitation.  Children  are  not  ad- 
mitted under  seven,  nor  above 
fourteen  years  old;  but  they  may 
remain  in  the  institution  beyond 
the  latter  age  so  long  as  the  pro- 
fession for  which  they  are  destined 
may  render  it  desirable.  The  sti- 
pend for  board  and  instruction  is 
300  dollars  per  annum;  besides 
which,  twelve  dollars  are  paid  an- 
nually for  washing,  three  for  regu- 
lar medical  attendance,  two  as  a 
gratuity  to  the  servants  at  Christ- 
mas, and  ten  on  the  entrance  of 
each  pupil,  to  keep  up  the  appara- 
tus for  natural  history  and  philo- 
sophy, and  for  gymnastic  exer- 
cises. Thus  the  total  expense  may 
be  estimated  at  about  50/.  sterling 
a  year;  a  sum  surprisingly  mode- 
rate when  compared  with  the  char- 
ges for  education  on  a  similar  scale 

in    England.     The   paternal  Semi- 
co I 

menis  of  the  principal,  who  treats 
all  his  pupils  as  if  they  were  his 
own  children,  and  the  constant  su- 
perintendence of  their  teachers, 
both  night  and  day,  are  circum- 
stances which  will  be  duly  appre- 
ciated by  all  parents  anxious  for 
the  comfort,  safety,  and  morals  of 
their  offspring. 


3£j 


ALL  RIGHT  AT  LAST. 

The  beautiful  Antoinette  Ber-  j  upon  their  little  Albert,  and  joined 
gen  became  at  a  very  early  age  ,  her  very  readily  in  the  plans  which 
the  wife  of  Count  Walstein,  a  man  jj  she  laid  down  for  his  education  and 
who  was  more  than  old  enough  to  j  his  future  happiness.  As  the  most 
be  her  father.  The  heart  of  An-  l|  effectual  means  of  securing1  the 
toinette  had  no  share  in  inducing  latter,  the  countess  projected  a 
her  to  form  this  disproportionate  marriage  between  him  and  the 
union  ;  she    contracted    it  merely 


in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  her 
parents,  and  her  filial  duty  met 
with  its  merited  reward  :  her  mar- 
riage was  happy,  according  to  her 
ideas  of  happiness  ;  for  nature, 
though  it  had  bestowed  upon  her 
a  kind  and  benevolent  heart,  had 
withheld  that  exquisite  sensibility 
which  too  often  renders  love  in  the 
female  mind  the  master  passion, 
that  swallows  up  every  other.  The 
placid  and  gentle  Antoinette  had, 
fortunately  for  herself,  no  idea  of'  place;  and  the  count,  perceiving 
this  terrible  passion :  she  met  with:  that  every  attempt  to  reason  the 
respect  and  kindness  from  her  bus-  J  matter  with  the  ladies,  only  served 
band,  she  desired  no  more;  and.  to  put  them  out  of  humour,  desist- 
her  days  glided  on  in  uninterrupt-  j  ed,  and  left  them  to  settle  the  af- 
ed  tranquillity,  till,  in  two  years  fair  as  they  pleased, 
after  her  marriage,  she  became  a  j      It  was  the  will  of  Heaven  that 


daughter  of  her  favourite  friend, 
.Madame  Sternheim.  She  serious- 
ly arranged  this  union  when  Al- 
bert uas  three,  and  his  intended 
bride  two  years  of  age.  It  uas  in 
vain  that  the  count  tried  to  per- 
suade her  that  various  tilings  might 
happen  to  prevent  it,  she  saw  no- 
thing that  could  do  so,  except 
death.  The  mother  of  Matilda, 
who  was  a  widow,  was  less  san- 
guine about  the  match,  but  not 
less   desirous  that  it  should   take 


mother. 

It  was  then,  for  the  first  time, 
that  Antoinette  found  there  was  a 
pleasure  more  lively  than  any  she 
had  yet  conceived  ;  her  affection 
for  her  boy  soon  grew  into  a  pas- 
sion, which  engrossed  her  so  whol- 


he  should  not  see  how  it  terminat- 
ed, for,  before  Albert  was  five 
years  old,  he  died,  leaving  his  la- 
dy sole  guardian  to  his  son.  Ne- 
ver was  mother  more  worthy  of 
this  sacred  trust :  much  as  she  idol- 
ized her  boy,  she  had   the  resolu- 


ly,  that  every  thing  that  did  not  !  tion  to  restrain  outwardly  the  ex- 


relate  to  him,  became  distasteful 
in  her  eyes  ;  and  although  she  had 
never  desired  to  inspire  her  hus- 
band with  ardent  love  for  herself, 
yet  she  could  hardly  forgive  him, 
because  he  seemed  less  dotingly 
attachecl  than  she  was  to  her  child. 
•  But  though  not  a  doting,  the 
count  was  an  affectionate  father; 
he  listened  with  delight  to  the 
praises  which    his  wife   bestowed 


pression  of  her  maternal  fondnes3, 
and  to  let  Albert  see  that  she  knew 
how  to  support  the  authority  of  a 
mother.  She  engaged  a  gentle- 
man of  learning  and  probity  as  a 
tutor  for  her  boy,  and  resolving  to 
devote  herself  wholly  to  her  pre- 
cious charge,  she  quitted  Vienna, 
and  retired  to  an  estate  at  a  consi- 
derable distance  from  it. 

This  step  was  more  than  a  nine- 


5c2(j 


AM.    RIGHT   AT    LAST. 


days'  wonder  in  the  brilliant  cir- 
cles which  she  had  left:  innume- 
rable were  the  good-natured  con- 
jectures to  which  it  gave  rise. 
Some  said  it  was  a  romantic  whim, 
which  thefaircountess  would  spee- 
dily get  tired  of;  others,  still  more 
charitable,  thought  it  was  a  refined 
species  of  coquetry,  practised  for 
the  purpose  of  drawing  lovers  af- 
ter her  to  her  retreat.  One  friend 
could  only  account  for  her  con- 
duct, by  attributing  it  to  avarice  ; 
and  another  thought  it  was  more 
likely  to  spring  from  pride.  In 
one  respect,  however,  they  were 
all  of  the  same  opinion,  that  she 
would  very  soon  get  tired  of  seclu- 
sion ;  but  the  event  belied  their 
sagacious  conjectures,  for  years 
passed, and  found  the  countess  still 
the  contented  inhabitant  of  her 
country-seat. 

In  quitting  Vienna, the  countess 
had  but  one  cause  of  regret,  and 
that  was,  the  impossibility  of  pre- 
vailing on  Madame  Sternheim  to 
accompany  her:  they  kept  up, 
however,  a  constant  correspond- 
ence, the  principal  subjectof  which 
was  the  growing  perfections  of 
their  children. 

Madame  Sternheim  was  not  rich, 
but  she  resided  with  a  brother  who 
possessed  considerable  property, 
which  he  had  promised  to  leave  to 
Matilda.  When  the  latter  had  at- 
tained her  fourteenth  year,  Ma- 
dame Sternheim  died  suddenly, 
leaving  her  child  under  the  sole 
guardianship  of  her  uncle.  The 
countess  was  extremely  urgent  to 
have  Matilda  entrusted  to  her  care, 
but  her  uncle,  who  doted  upon 
her,  refused  to  part  with  her, 
though  he  signified  at  the  same 
time,  that  when  she  had  attained  a 


proper  age,  he  would  gladly  be- 
stow her  hand  upon  the  young 
count. 

The  countess  wavered  whether 
to  return  to  Vienna,  or  to  remain 
some  time  longer  in  retirement; 
but  the  remonstrances  of  her  son's 
tutor  determined  her  on  the  latter 
step.  Ten  years  more  passed ;  Al- 
bert was  every  thing  that  a  fond 
mother  could  wish,  and  the  coun- 
tess began  to  exult  in  the  near 
accomplishment  of  her  darling 
scheme,  when  a  circumstance  oc- 
curred that  threatened  to  frustrate 
it  for  ever. 

Nature  had  bestowed  upon  Al- 
bert a  heart  uncommonly  suscep- 
tible of  female  charms,  and  just  as 
he  attained  his  nineteenth  year, 
Fortune  maliciously  threw  in  his 
way  an  object  that  might  have 
warmed  even  the  coldest  bosom. 
This  lovely  creature  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  farmer  on  the  countess's 
estate:  she  had  passed  her  infancy 
and  a  part  of  her  youth  with  an 
aunt,  who  lived  at  some  distance 
from  her  father ;  she  returned  home 
just  as  Albert  had  completed  his 
nineteenth  year,  and  it  was  on  the 
festival  of  his  patron  saint  that 
he  beheld  her  for  the  first  timer 
when  she  led  the  train  of  virgins 
who  came  with  their  simple  offer- 
ings of  flowers  to  do  homage  to 
their  young  lord.  As  the  proces- 
sion advanced,  the  eyes  of  Albert 
were  riveted  with  admiration  on 
her  slender  and  graceful  figure; 
but  when  she  looked  up,  and  he 
beheld  a  countenance  glowing  in 
all  the  charms  of  loveliness  and 
innocence,  his  heart  became  her 
instant  captive.  Though  unconsci- 
ous of  the  nature  of  his  senti- 
meuts,  the  impression  was  too  deep 


ALL    RIGHT    AT    LAST. 


.w 


to  find  vent  in  words;  and  his  mo- 
ther, who  it  must  be  confessed  hail 
little  penetration  in  love  affairs, 
wondered,  that  when  every  tongue 
was  united  in  praise  of  the  fair  j 
peasant,  his  alone  should  be  silent. 
The  countess's  unsuspecting  dis- 
position was  fatal  to  the  repose  of 
her  son,  because  it  gave  him  so 
many  opportunities  to  see  and  con- 
verse with  the  fair  Ulrica,  that  his 
passion  for  her  soon  became  a  sen-  ! 
timent  too  powerful  for  the  wisdom 
of  nineteen  to  controul.  He  for- 
got all  that  he  owed  to  his  mother 
and  to  his  rank,  and  neglecting 
his  other  pursuits,  he  haunted  the 
habitation  of  the  farmer  so  inces- 
santly, that  the  old  man's  suspi-  | 
cions  were  awakened,  and  he  re- 
vealed them  to  the  countess. 

This  was  a  thunder-clap  to  the 
fond  mother;  but  she  had  the  pru- 
dence to  disguise  her  anger  and 
her  fears.  She  praised  the  con- 
duct of  the  farmer,  begged  him  to 
send  his  daughter  back  to  her  aunt, 
and  assured  him  that  a  handsome 
marriage  portion  awaited  the  girl, 
provided  she  married  within  three 
months. 

She  expected  that  Albert  would 
have  shewn  some  symptoms  of 
chagrin  and  disappointment  at  the 
departure  of  his  fair  mistress;  and 
she  intended,  as  soon  as  he  had  a 
little  recovered  his  spirits,  to  pro- 
pose their  removal  to  Vienna;  but 
day  after  day  passed,  and  instead 
of  recovering  his  spirits,  he  be- 
came more  and  more  gloomy  and 
dejected.  The  visible  alteration 
in  his  appearance  might  indeed 
have  affrighted  a  less  tender  mo- 
ther; but  fortunately  for  the  coun- 
tess, she  had  no  notion  that  love 
i'ol.  X.  No.  LX. 


could  produce  any  fatal  effects, 
and  she  waited  without  apprehen- 
sion, though  not  without  impa- 
tience, till  her  son  appeared  re- 
stored to  his  usual  health. 

But  cheerfulness  came  not  with 
health;  on  the  contrary,  his  gloom 
and  dejection  continued  unabated: 
the  patience  of  the  countess  was 
at  length  exhausted,  and  she  re- 
solved, as  he  was  now  drawing  to- 
wards his  twentieth  year,  to  put 
things  in  train  for  his  intended 
marriage. 

It  was  not  without  some  trepi- 
dation that  she  opened  the  matter 
to  him,  but  she  found  a  resistance 
which  she  little  expected  ;  for  the 
first  time,  her  son,  hitherto  so  ten- 
der and  dutiful,  found  courage 
to  oppose  her  will,  and  even  per- 
emptorily to  refuse  obedience  to 
her  commands.  But  he  could  not 
see  without  extreme  agony  the 
tears  which  his  refusal  cost  her  : 
the  countess  saw  his  resolution  fal- 
ter ;  she  pursued  her  advantage, 
she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  nor 
would  she  rise  from  her  knees,  till 
he  had  solemnly  pledged  his  word 
that  he  would  immediately  espouse 
Matilda. 

"  Keaven  be  praised,"  cried  his 
transported  mother,fondly  embrac- 
ing him,"  the  honour  of  our  house 
is  safe!" — "  And  the  happiness  of 
your  son,"  exclaimed  Albert,  as 
he  burst  from  her  arms,  "  is  for 
ever  destroyed!" 

These  words  grieved  but  did 
not  alarm  the  countess :  the  charms 
of  Matilda,  thought  she,  will  spee- 
dily erase  the  remembrance  of  Ul- 
rica. She  accordingly  hastened 
their  departure  for  Vienna,  and 
the  first  glance  of  Matilda  con- 
X  x 


328 


ALL   RIGHT   AT    LAST. 


vinced  her,  that  the  heart  of  Al- 
bert would  be  speedily  transferred 
to  the  daughter  of  her  election. 

Matilda  was  indeed  lovely  enough 
to  have  captivated  any  disengaged 
heart,  but  prepossessed  as  that  of 
Walstein  was,  it  was  no  wonder 
that  he  viewed  her  with  indiffer- 
ence. This  feeling  was  by  no 
means  reciprocal:  Matilda,  natu- 
rally of  an  ardent  and  romantic 
temper,  and  passionately  fond  of 
her  mother,  had  parly  imbibed 
from  her  an  opinion,  that  in  Wal- 
stein every  virtue  was  combined 
with  every  grace.  Thus  prepos- 
sessed, it  is  no  wonder,  that  when 
she  found  him  as  handsome  and  as 
graceful  as  ever  her  fancy  had  pic- 
tured, that  she  surrendered  her 
heart  at  their  first  interview  ;  and 
engrossed  by  the  care  of  conceal- 
ing her  own  feelings,  she  observed 
nothing  strange  in  his  manner, 
but  a  gravity,  which  excited  her 
surprise,  unmixed  with  any  suspi- 
cion of  its  cause. 

The  countess  took  care  to  hurry 
on  the  nuptials,  and  to  keep  the 
young  people  as  much  apart  as  she 
could  till  they  were  celebrated. 

Albert  struggled  hard  to  obtain 
a  victory  over  his  feelings,  and  to 
behave  to  his  bride  with  an  appear- 
ance of  tenderness;  but  his  natu- 
rally ingenuous  temper  rendered 
the  effort  so  difficult,  that  he  form- 
ed the  desperate  resolution  of  con- 
fessing the  state  of  his  affections 
to  her.  "  Had  I  a  heart  to  give, 
madam,"  cried  he,  when  he  had 
finished  his  detail,  "  I  could  not 
refuse  it  to  charms  and  graces  like 
yours;  but,  alas!  I  find  that  the 
fatal  passion  which  makes  me  un- 
worthy of  your  regard,  is  but  ren- 
dered more  violent  by  every  effort 


to  conquer  it.  I  repent,  with  all 
my  soul,  that,  by  a  weak  compli- 
ance with  my  mother's  wishes,  I 
have  embittered  your  days.  I  can- 
not repair  the  wrong  I  have  done 
you;  I  dare  not  ask  your  forgive- 
ness; all  that  remains  for  me  is,  to 
fly  from  my  country  for  ever:  I 
will  expiate  my  fault  in  some  dis- 
tant clime.  To  you,  madam,  I  leave 
the  care  of  my  mother:  my  heart 
tells  me,  that  she  will  soon  need  all 
the  consolation  your  tenderness 
can  bestow,  for  I  feel  that  despair 
will  soon  rob  her  of  her  son." 

"  Hold,  rash  man  !"  cried  his 
weeping  wife,  as  he  was  hurling 
from  her,  "  what  would  you  do  ? 
Would  you  then  strike  a  dagger  in- 
to the  heart  of  a  mother  who  adores 
you?  and  wherefore,  since  unhap- 
pily I  am  so  odious  in  your  eyes, 
cannot  we,  without  exposing  our 
situation  to  the  world,  estrange 
ourselves  from  each  other?  Is  it  not 
possible  to  be  completely  separat- 
ed, even  under  the  same  roof?" 

"  Ah  !  madam,  but  could  I  de- 
mand from  you  such  a  sacrifice?" 

"Yes,  count;  I  make  it  willing- 
ly, for  the  sake  of  your  respected 
mother." 

Had  the  count  at  that  moment 
looked  in  the  eyes  of  his  beautiful 
wife,  he  would  have  found  that  she 
thought  less  of  the  mother  than  of 
the  son ;  the  truth  was,  that  her 
heart  was  so  wholly  devoted  to 
her  ungrateful  husband,  that  the 
thoughts  of  parting  with  him  ap- 
peared to  her  a  misfortune  which 
no  sacrifice  could  be  too  great  to 
avert. 

Relieved  by  this  arrangement 
from  the  task  of  affecting  senti- 
ments that  he  did  not  feel,  the 
mind   of  Albert   insensibly    grew 


ALL   RIGHT    AT    LAST. 


329 


calmer.  His  mother  having  ac- 
complished ber  object,  returned  to 
her  country-seat,  having  first  re- 
ceived a  promise  from  her  chil- 
dren that  they  would  frequently 
visit  her  there. 

This  promise  was  not  made  by 
Albert  with  any  intention  of  being- 
kept,  for  he  dreaded  that  his  mo- 
ther's observant  eye  would  soon 
discover  the  terms  he  was  on  with 
his  wife;  and  in  order  to  evade  the 
promised  visit,  he  accepted  an  em- 
ployment at  court,  the  duties  of 
which  would  of  necessity  detain 
him  almost  constantly  at  Vienna. 

But  as  Matilda  had  not  the  same 
reason  for  refusing  the  countess's 
invitation,  she  visited  her  often, 
and  soon  became  deeply  and  ten- 
der^- attached  to  her. 

Nearly  two  years  elapsed  from 
the  celebration  of  these  inauspi- 
cious nuptials,  and  to  the  sur- 
prise of  the  count,  the  inviolable 
passion  which  he  had  repeatedly 
said  to  himself,  could  never  expire 
but  with  his  life,  gradually  faded 
from  his  mind.  He  found  with  as- 
tonishment, that  he  was  not  only 
no  longer  miserable,  but  even  that 
he  was  very  much  disposed  to  be 
happy:  he  no  longer  indulged  in 
gloomy  reveries,  or  amused  him- 
self by  execrating,  in  the  solitude  of 
his  chamber,  the  bitterness  of  his 
destiny  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  en- 
tered with  spirit  into  the  bustle 
and  the  pleasures  of  life,  and 
completely  recovered  his  natural 
vivacity. 

Often  did  he  now  reflect  with  a 
mixture  of  repentance  and  morti- 
fication on  his  conduct  to  Matilda; 
yet  how  to  break  the  arrangements 
he  had  himself  made  he  knew  not, 
for  he  feared  that,  by  his  conduct, 


he  had  for  ever  alienated  from  him 
the  heart  of  his  wife;  and  the  stu- 
died coldness  of  Matilda'a  manner 
gave  him  but  too  much  reason  for 
this  apprehension. 

This  coldness,  however,  sprang 
neither  from  hatred  nor  resentment; 
it  was  merely  a  veil  which  the 
proud  and  sensitive  Matilda  threw 
over  an  ardent,  and,  as  she  sup- 
posed, a  hopeless  affection.  Ma- 
ny a  hard  struggle  did  it  cost  her 
to  retain  this  appearance  of  apa- 
thy, when  she  received  from  her 
husband  some  marks  of  attention  ; 
but  female  pride,  though  it  could 
not  conquer  love,  was  yet  strong 
enough  to  suppress  all  outward  ap- 
pearance of  it;  and  Albert  often 
and  deeply  execrated  the  folly 
which  had  cut  him  off,  as  bethought, 
for  ever  from  the  joys  of  domestic 
life. 

Matilda  was  passing  a  few  weeks 
with  her  mother-in-law,  when  the 
latter  was  attacked  with  an  illness, 
which  soon  threatened  to  prove 
fatal.  She  despatched  an  express 
instantly  to  Albert,  but  before  he 
arrived  all  was  over.  Matilda  had 
remained  till  the  eyes  of  her  be- 
loved mother  were  closed  in  death, 
and  then  retired  to  give  vent  to  the 
agony  of  her  soul  in  her  own 
apartment. 

Shortly  afterwards  Albert  arrived; 
fearful  of  disturbing  his  mother, 
he  left  his  equipage  in  the  road, 
and  entered  the  house  by  a  back 
way.  When  he  was  informed  of 
the  melancholy  event,  he  ordered 
that  his  lady  should  not  be  told  of 
his  arrival,  till  he  had  visited  the 
remains  of  his  mother. 

As  he  entered  the  chamber  of 
death,  all  the  follies  and  inadver- 
tences by  which  he  had  ever  griev- 
X  x  2 


330 


CHARACTER   OF   CHARLES   I.  &C. 


ed  his  excellent  parent,  rose  in 
aggravated  colours  to  his  memory; 
and  when  he  beheld  the  loved  fea- 
tures cold  and  lifeless,  which  a 
short  time  before  had  glowed  with 
the  most  animated  delight  at  his 
approach,  he  seemed  for  the  first 
time  to  awake  to  a  sense  of  real 
sorrow,  and  tears,  the  bitterest  he 
had  ever  shed,  poured  in  torrents 
from  his  eyes. 

He  had  indulged  his  grief  for 
some  time  before  any  thought  in- 
truded, save  that  of  the  beloved 
lost  object  before  him,  but  when 
the  first  burst  of  sorrow  was  over, 
lie  recollected  too  that  Matilda  had 
lost  a  parent.  The  recollection  of 
his  wife  came  over  his  mind  with 
unusual  tenderness  ;  he  longed  to 
see  her,  but  thinking  that  perhaps 
she  slept,  he  went  himself  softly 
to  her  chamber,  determined,  that 
if  so,  she  should  not  be  disturbed. 

He  tapped  gently  at  the  door; 
no  answer  was  returned,  but  the 
deep  sobs  which  he  heard  con- 
vinced him  that  she  did  not  sleep. 
He  opened  the  door  softly,  and  be- 
held her  kneeling  with  her  back  to 


him ;  her  attitude  was  that  of  prayer: 
she  murmured  a  few  sentences: 
Albert  caught  the  words,  "  O  my 
God,  thou  who  art  my  only  friend, 
give  me  strength  to  support  the 
loss  of  my  dear  mother;  and,  oh  ! 
enable  me  to  bear  without  mur- 
muring, what  I  have  suffered,  and 
must  suffer,  from  Albert's  indiffer- 


ence 


I" 


At  these  words,  Walstein  could 
no  longer  restrain  himself;  he 
caught  the  lovely  petitioner  to  his 
heart,  and  while  his  tears  mingled 
with  hers  for  their  common  loss, 
he  adjured  the  shade  of  his  belov-- 
ed  mother  to  witness  the  sincerity 
with  which  he  vowed,  that  his  life 
should  be  devoted  to  the  wife  she 
had  given  him. 

He  found  no  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing his  word:  Matilda,  now  re- 
leased from  all  restraint,  soon 
gained,  by  her  virtues  and  winning 
qualities,  an  entire  ascendency 
over  his  heart ;  and  the  felicity 
which  crowned  their  long  and  hap- 
py union,  amply  recompensed 
them  for  the  misery  they  had  en- 
dured in  the  beginning  of  it. 


CHARACTER  OF  CHARLES  I.  AND  HIS  PATRONAGE  OF 

THE  ARTS. 


With  regard  to  his  knowledge  of 
pictures,  I  find  (says  Walpole)  the 
followinganecdote  from  a  book  call- 
ed "  The  Original  and  Growth  of 
Printing," by  R.Atkyns, Esq.  "This 
excellent  prince,"  says  thatauthor, 
"  who  was  notonly  qliguis  in  omnibus, 
but  singu/aris  in  amuibus,  hearing  of 
the  rare  heads  (painted),  amongst 
several  other  pictures  brought  me 
from  Rome,  sent  Sir  James  Palmer 
to  bring  them  to  Whitehall  to  him, 
where  were  present  divers  picture- 


drawers  and  painters.  He  asked 
them  all  of  whose  hand  that  was: 
some  guessed  at  it;  others  were  of 
another  opinion,  but  none  was  po- 
sitive. At  last  said  the  king, '  This 
is  of  such  a  man's  hand;  1  know  it 
as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  him  draw 
it.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  is  there  but  one 
man's  hand  in  this  picture?'  None 
did  discern  whether  there  was  or 
not,  but  most  concluded  that  there 
was  but  one  hand.  Said  the  king, 
'  1  am  sure  there  are  two  hands  bare 


CIIAKACTKIl    OP    CHAIILKS    I.    &C. 


331 


work  in  it,  for  I  know  the  hand  | 
that  drew  the  heads,  but  the  hand 
that  did  the  rest  I  never  saw  be- 
fore.' Upon  this  a  gentleman 
that  had  been  at  Rome  about  ten 
years  before,  affirmed  that  he  saw 
this  very  picture,  with  the  two 
heads  unfinished  at  that  time,  and 
that  he  heard  his  brothers  (who 
staid  there  some  years  after  him) 
say,  that  the  widow  of  the  painter 
that  drew  it,  wanting  money,  got 
the  best  master  she  could  find  to 
finish  it,  and  make  it  saleable."  This 
story,  which  in  truth  is  but  a  blind 
one,  especially  as  Mr.  Atkyns  does 
not  even  mention  the  name  of  the 
painter  of  his  own  picture,  seems 
calculated  to  prove  a  fact,  of  which 
I  have  no  doubt — his  majesty's 
knowledge  of  hands.  The  gentle- 
man who  stood  by,  and  was  so  long- 
before  he  recollected  so  circum- 
stantial a  history  of  the  picture, 
was  I  dare  say  a  very  good  courtier. 

The  king  is  said  not  only  to  have 
loved  painting,  but  to  have  prac- 
tised it:  it  is  affirmed  that  Rubens 
corrected  some  of  his  majesty's 
drawings. 

It  was  immediately  after  his  ac- 
cession that  Charles  began  to  form 
his  collection.  The  crown  was 
already  in  possession  of  some  good 
pictures:  HenryVIII.  had  several. 
What  painters  had  been  here  had 
added  others.  Prince  Henry,  as  I 
have  said,  had  begun  a  separate 
collection  both  of  paintings  and 
statues.  All  these  Charles  assem- 
bled, and  sent  commissions  into 
France  to  purchase  more.  Cross 
was  despatched  into  Spain  to  copy 
the  works  of  Titian  there;  and  no 
doubt,  as  soon  as  the  royal  taste  was 
known,  many  were  brought  over, 
.and  offered  for  sale  at  couit,-    The 


ministers  and  nobility  were  not 
backward  with  presents  of  the  same 
nature.  Various  are  the  accounts 
of  thejewels  and  baubles  presented 
to  magnificent  Elizabeth. 

In  the  catalogue  of  King  Charles's 
collection  are  recorded  the  names 
of  several  of  the  court  who  infra- 
tiated  themselves  by  offerings  of 
pictures  and  curiosities.  But  the 
noblest  addition  was  made  b}*  the 
king  himself:  he  purchased  at  a 
great  price*  the  entire  cabinet  of 
the  Dukeof  Mantua, then  reckoned 
the  most  valuable  in  Europe.  But 
several  of  those  pictures  were 
spoiled  by  the  quicksilver  on  the 
frames,  owing,  I  suppose,  to  care- 
lessness in  packing  them  up.  Van- 
derdort,  from  whom  alone  we  have 
this  account,  does  not  specify  all 
that  suffered,  though  in  general  he 
is  minute  even  in  describing  their 
frames.  The  list,  valuable  as  it  is 
notwithstanding  all  its  blunders, 
inaccuracy,  and  bad  English,  was  I 
believe  never  completed,  which 
might  be  owing  to  the  sudden 
death  of  the  composer.  There 
are  accounts  in  MS.  of  many  more 
pictures,  indubitablyof  that  collec- 
tion, not  specified  in  the  printed 
catalogue.  Vanderdort,  in  his  ca- 
talogue, mentions  presents  made 
by  him  to  the  king  of  a  book  of 
prints  by  Albert  Durer,  of  a  head 
inplasterof  Charles  V.  and  of  the 
arm  of  the  King  of  Denmark  mo- 
delled from  the  life.  It  is  certain 
that  the  poor  man  had  great  gra- 

*  The  lowest  I  have  heard  was  20,000/. : 
so  R.  Symundes  said.  At  Kensington 
are  several  pieces  of  the  Venetian  and 
Lombard  schools,  in  uniform  frames  of 
black  and  gold,  the  pictures  themselves 
much  damaged.  These  I  take  to  have 
been  part  of  the  collection  from  Mantua. 


332 


CHARACTER   OF   CHARLES   I.   &C. 


titudeto,  or  great  awe  of  Charles  I. 
The  king  had  recommended  to  him 
to  take  particular  care  of  a  minia- 
ture by  Gibson,  the  parable  of  the 
Lost  Sheep.  Vanderdort  laid  it  up 
so  carefully,  that,  when  the  king- 
asked  him  for  it,  he  could  not  find 
it,  and  hanged  himself  in  despair. 
After  his  death,  his  executors  found 
and  restored  it.  As  this  piece  is 
not  mentioned  in  the  catalogue, 
probably  it  was  newly  purchased. 
There  is  an  admirable  head  of 
Vanderdort  by  Dobson  at  Hough- 
ton. 

The  king,  who  spared  neither  fa- 
vours nor  money  to  enrich  his  col- 
lection, invited  Albano  to  England 
by  a  letter  written  with  his  own 
hand.  It  succeeded  no  more  than 
a  like  attempt  of  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  to  draw  Carlo  Ma- 
ratti  hither.  Carlo  had  drawn  for 
that  duke  the  portraits  of  a  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Brunswick,  but 
excused  himself  from  obeying  the 
summons,  by  pleading  that  he  had 
not  studied  long  enough  at  Rome, 
and  was  not  yet  worthy  of  painting 
for  the  king.  Simon  Vouet  (an 
admired  French  painter,  who,  while 
very  young,  had  been  sent  over  in 
1640,  to  draw  the  portrait  of  some 
lady  of  great  rank  retired  .hither 
from  Paris,)  was  invited  by  King 
Charles,  with  promise  of  great  re- 
wards, to  return  to  England,  but 
declined  the  offer.  His  majesty 
was  desirous  too  of  having  some- 
thing of  the  hand  of  Bernini.  Van- 
dyck  drew  in  one  piece  the  full 
face  and  the  three-quarter  face 
and  the  profile  of  the  king,  from 
which  Bernini  made  a  bust,  that 
was  consumed  or  stolen  in  the  fire 
of  Whitehall.  It  was  on  seeing 
this    picture,    that    Bernini     pro- 


nounced, as  is  well  known,  that 
there  was  something  unfortunate 
in  the  countenance  of  Charles. 
The  same  artist  made  a  bust  too  of 
Mr.  Baker,  who  carried  the  picture 
to  Rome.  The  Duke  of  Kent's 
father  bought  the  latter  bust  at 
Sir  Peter  Lely's  sale,  which  is  now 
in  the  possession  of  Lord  Royston, 
and  was  reckoned  preferable  to 
that  of  the  king.  The  hair  is  in 
prodigious  quantity,  and  incom- 
parably loose  and  free;  the  point- 
band  very  fine.  Mr.  Baker  paid 
Bernini  a  hundred  broad  pieces 
for  his ;  but  for  the  king's,  Bernini 
received  a  thousand  Roman  crowns. 
The  king  was  so  pleased  with  his 
own,  that  he  desired  to  have  one 
of  the  queen  too,  but  that  was  pre- 
vented by  the  war. 

Among  the  Strafford  papers  is 
an  evidence  of  this  prince's  affec- 
tion for  his  pictures.  In  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Garrard,  dated  Nov.  9, 
[631,  speaking  of  two  masks  that 
were  to  be  exhibited  that  winter, 
he  says,  "  A  great  room  is  now 
building  only  for  this  use,  betwixt 
the  guard-chamber  and  the  ban- 
queting-house,  of  fir,  only  weather- 
boarded,  and  slightly  covered.  At 
the  marriage  of  the  Queen  of  Bo- 
hemia, I  saw  one  set  up  there,  but 
not  of  that  vastness  that  this  is, 
which  will  cost  too  much  money  to 
be  pulled  down,  and  yet  down  it 
must  when  the  masks  are  over." 

In  another,  of  Dec.  16,  the  same 
person  says,  "  Here  are  two  masks 
intended  this  winter:  the  king  is 
now  in  practising  his,  which  will 
be  presented  at  Twelfth-tide:  most 
of  the  young  lords  about  the  town, 
who  are  good  dancers,  attend  his 
majesty  in  this  business.  The 
other,  the  queen  makes  at  Shrove- 


LADY    MARY    AVORTLfcY    MONTAGU. 


53; 


tide,  a  new  house  being  erected  in 
the  first  court  at  Whitehall,  which 
cost  the  king  '2500/.  only  of  deal 
boards,  because  the  king  will  not 
have  his  pictures  in  the  banquet- 
ing-house  hurt  with  the  lights." 

The  most  capital  purchase  made 
by  King  Charles  were  the  cartoons 
of    Raphael,    now    at    Hampton- 


Court.  They  had  remained  in 
Flanders  from  the  time  that  Leo  X. 
sent  them  thither  to  be  copied  in 
tapestry,  the  money  for  the  tapes- 
try having  never  been  paid.  Ru- 
bens told  the  king  of  them,  and 
where  they  were,  and  by  his  means 
they  were  bought. 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


Mr.  Editor, 

In  your  two  preceding  Num- 
bers, I  have  noticed  some  articles, 
the  object  of  which  has  been  to  set 
the  poetical  reputation  of  Lady  M. 
W.  Montagu  in  its  true  light;  and 
the  writer,  who  signs  himself  A.  A. 
has  incidentally  touched  upon  the 
private  character  and  conduct  of 
this  irregular,  inconsistent,  but,  at 


Spence  says  of  it,  though  perhaps 
it  never  appeared  in  print;  and  I 
perceive  that  the  Quarterly  Re- 
viewers are  as  much  in  the  dark 
about  it  as  myself.  It  seems  that 
Lady  Mary  had  been  talking  with 
Spence  upon  the  subject,  and  ob- 
served to  him,  that  it  was  from  the 
customs  of  the  Turks  she  had  first 
thou glit  of  a  septennial  bill  for  the 


the  same  time,  delightful   author-  l  benefit  of  married  persona,  and  of  the 
ess. 


In  the  Rev.  Joseph  Spence's 
"  Anecdotes,  Observations,  and 
Characters  of  Books  and  Men," 
1820,  edited  by  Mr.  Singer,  I  have 
found  several  passages  relating  to 
Lady  Mary,  which  throw,  I  think, 
considerable  lighton  her  habits  and 
history:  for  the  sake  of  complete- 
ness, I  have  extracted  two  or  three 
of  them  ;  the  first  alluding  to  a  most 
singular  project  and  production, 
by  her  recommending  that  hus- 
bands and  wives  should  be  bound 
together  for  no  longer  than  seven 
years,  unless  it  was  the  wish  of 
both  parties  to  continue  longer 
united.  Perhaps  A.  A.  may  possess 
a  copy  of  this  work,  which  I  have 
never  seen  ;  and  if  he  has,  no  doubt 
a  few  amusing  quotations  might  be 
made  for  the  entertainment  of  your 
readers.  That  such  a  work  did 
once  exist,  is  obvious  from   what 


advantages  that  might  arise  from 
i  wives  having  no  portions.  Upon 
this  remark,  Spence,  in  the  work 
I  have  quoted,  makes  the  follow- 
ing note : 

"  That  lady's  little  treatise  upon 
these  two    subjects  is  very  prettily 
written,  and    has   verv   uncommon 
arguments  in  it.     She  is  very  stre- 
nuous for  both  these   tenets  :  that 
every  married  person  should  have 
.  the  liberty  of  declaring,  every  se- 
venth year,  whether  they  chose  to 
f  continue    to   live  together  in  that 
I  state  for  another  seven  years  or  not ; 
and  she  also  argues,  that  if  women 
i  had   nothing   but  their   own    good 
qualities  and   merit  to  recommend 
them,  it  would   make    them  more 
virtuous,  and  their  husbands  more 
happy,  than  in  the  present  market- 
ing way  among  us;     She  seems  ve- 
ry earnest  and  serious  on  the  sub- 
ject,   and    wishes    the    legislature 


334 


LADY    MAKY    WORTLEY    MONTAClU, 


would  take  it  into  their  considera- 
tion, and  regulate  those  two  points 
by  her  system." 

The  residence  of  Lady  M.W. 
Montagu  at  Constantinople,  while 
her  hu*band  Mr.  Wortley  was  there 
in  an  official  capacity,  had  given 
her  certain  liberal  notions,  by 
which,  as  your  readers  no  doubt 
are  aware,  the  Grand  Turk  in  all 
likelihood  profited.  The  follow- 
ing quotation  tends  to  shew  that 
she  had  no  very  strong  attachment 
to  her  first  husband,  though  she 
preferred  him,  out  of  a  love  of  op- 
position and  independence  more 
than  any  thing  else,  to  the  man 
whom  her  father  had  chosen  for 
her.  Spence,  in  a  letter  from  Rome, 
writes  to  his  mother  in  the  follow- 
ing terms: 

"  I  always  desired  to  be  acquaint- 
ed with  Lady  Mary,  and  could  ne- 
ver bring  it  about,  though  we  were 
often  together  in  London  :  soon  af- 
ter we  came  to  this  place,  her  la- 
dyship came  here,  and  in  five  days 
I    was    well    acquainted    with    her. 
She  is  one  of  the  most  shining  cha- 
racters   in   the    world,    but   shines 
like  a  comet.  She  is  all  irregularity, 
and   always   wandering;  the    most 
wise,  the  most  imprudent;  loveli- 
est, most  disagreeable;  best  natur- 
ed,  cruellest  woman  in  the  world  ; 
c  all  things  by  turns,  and  nothing 
long.'      She   was    married    young, 
and  she  told  me,  with  that  freedom 
which    travelling    gives,    that  she 
never  was  in    so  great  a  hurry   of 
thought,  as   the  month  before  she 
was  married  ;  she  never  slept  any- 
one night  that  mouth.     You   know 
she  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
beauties  of  her  day,  and  had  a  vast 
number  of  offers  ;    and  the    thing 
that  kept  Uer  awake  was,  whom  to 


fix  upon.  She  was  determined  as  to 
two  points  from  the  first ;  that  is, 
to  be  married  to  somebody,  and 
not  to  be  married  to  the  man  her 
father  advised  her  to  have.  The 
last  night  of  the  month  she  deter- 
mined, and  in  the  morning  left  the 
husband  of  her  father's  choice, 
buying  the  wedding  -  ring,  and 
scuttled  away  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Wortley." 

I  do  not  recollect  that  A.  A.  men- 
tions the  acquirements  of  Lady 
Mary  in  either  of  his  communica- 
tions ;  but  perhaps  it  was  unneces- 
sary, as  they  may  be  gathered  very 
much  from  her  extant  productions. 
It  has  been  asserted,  that  she  ob- 
tained a  knowledge  of  Latin  from 
her  brother's  tutor,  who  at  the 
same  time  instructed  her  ;  but  this 
appears,  on  the  evidence  now  ob- 
tained, to  be  an  often  repeated 
error,  She  owed  her  education 
principally  to  her  own  industry  and 
exertions  ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
took  great  pains  to  conceal,  not  so 
much  her  learning,  as  the  means 
by  which  she  acquired  it.  She 
save  out  that  she  was  reading  for 
five  or  six  hours  a  day  Madame 
Scudery's  romances  (translated  in- 
to English  in  the  reigns  of  Charles 
and  James  II.);  when,  in  fact,  she 
was  busily  employed  in  studying 
Virgil,  Horace,  and  the  other  La- 
tin classics.  The  only  service  Mr. 
Wortley  seems  to  have  clone  her, 
was  the  encouragement,  and  per- 
haps assistance,  he  gave  her  in  this 
pursuit.  Of  the  origin  of  this  taste 
Lady  Mary  says : 

"  When  I  was  young,  I  was  a 
great  admirer  of  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses, and  that  was  one  of  the 
chief  reasons  that  set  me  upon  the 
thoughts  of  stealing  the  Latin  Ian- 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    THE   SOUTH    OF   FIIANCK. 


535 


guagc.  Mr.  Wortley  was  the  only 
person  to  whom  I  communicated 
my  design,  and  he  encouraged  mc 
in  it.  I  studied  five  or  six  hours  a 
day,  for  two  years,  in  my  father's 
library,  and  so  got  that  language, 
whilst  every  body  else  thought  I 
was  reading  nothing  but  novels 
and  romances." 

1  might  find  other  matters  from  |j 


the  same  work  perhaps  quite  as 
much  in  point  as  those  I  have  tran- 
scribed, but  I  do  not  think  at  this 
time  of  day  that  I  should  do  so, 
considering  how  much  is  already 
known  of  the  subject  of  this  letter : 
I  shall  therefore  take  my  leave  for 
the  present. 

Dion. 

London;   Nov.  y,  1820. 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS  IN  THE  SOUTH  OF  FRANCE. 

LETTER  XXIV. 

I  know  not  where  the  kind  of,  my  veins  swell,  and  the  perspira- 
indolence  which  I  am  most  fond  tion  bedews  my  brow,  till  the  difn- 
of,  can  better  be  indulged  than  in  !  culty  is  overcome.  I  then  lighten 
this  busy  city.  Every  thing  serves  I  my  labouring  bosom  with  a  sigh,  afl 
to  convince  me,  that  the  sight  of  ;i  they  do  theirs.  The  bracing  sea- 
industrious  persons  keeps  not  only  j  breeze  cools  us,  and  I  at  length 
the  soul,  but  likewise  the  body,  in  carry  home  with  me  so  much  of  the 
much  more  salutary  motion  than'  excellent  appetite  which  they  have 
lonely  walks,  even  supposing,  which  jj  gained  for  their  repast,  as  my  weak 
is  not  always  the  case,  we  had  in  ji  stomach  stands  in  need  of.  This 
ourselves  a  companion  whose  con-  experiment,  which  I  made  this 
versation  compensated  for  every  ;  morning  preparatory  to  the  after- 
other.  What  the  representations  ;  noon's  entertainment  to  which  lam 
of  my  physician  could  not  effect,     invited,  I  shall  repeat  daily  while 


is  here  accomplished  by  the  spirit 
of  commerce.  This  power,  which 
animates  so  many  machines,  rouses 


I  remain  here;  for  you  cannot  ima- 
gine with  how  much  greater  plea- 
sure I  now  think  of  M.  Frege's  in- 


mine  from  bed  with  the  dawn  of  j  vitation  than  I  did  yesterday,  when, 
day,  draws  me  to  the  window,  and  '  for  many  successive  hours,  I  moved 
opens  both  my  eyes  and  ears.  But  ||  no  other  part  of  my  crazy  machine 
no  where  is  the  reaction  of  exter-  ;!  than  my  fingers. 
nal  energies  upon  mine  more  pow-  jj  But  why,  my  dear  Edward,  have 
erful  and  more  beneficial,  than  j  we  such  an  aversion  to  all  bodily 
when  I  visit  the  harbour.  My  body  \  labour?  Should  we  not,  since  the 
then  unconsciouslyimitates,  in  the  :  mere  sight  of  it  is  capable  of  per- 
closest  manner,  the  models  of  the  forming  such  wonders,  greatly 
severest  labour  that  present  them-  j  heighten  our  enjoyment  of  life,  if, 


selves  to  my  view;  and  while  I  ob 
serve,  for  instance,  the  violent  ex 
ertions  of  men  raising  prodigious 


according  to  Locke's  advice,  we 
were,  in  addition  to  an  education 
suitable  to  our  rank,  to  learn  some 


weights  into  a  vessel  by  means  of  j  handicraft  business,   by  which  we 
a  groaning   crane,    I    too    extend  jj  might  at  least  earn  the  bread  that 
my  arms,  and  bend  my  back,  while  '■'  we  consume?  Is  it  right  that  we, 
f'vl.  X.  Ntt.  LXt  Y  r 


336 


SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELS    IN   THE   SOUTH    OF   FRANCE. 


by  proudly  strutting  with  our  hands 
in  our  pockets,  should  throw  upon 
the  poor  day-labourer  more  hunger 
than  he  can  satisfy,  while  we  have 
appropriated  to  ourselves  those  re- 
creations which  ought  to  be  the 
reward  of  industry  alone,  as  the 
means  of  keeping  our  useless  ma- 
chines in  motion?  I  should  think 
this  self- reproof  must  occur  to 
every  one  who  rides  pasta  compa- 
ny of  busy  reapers,  who  rolls  along 
for  many  an  idle  hour  in  his  car- 
riage, who  fatigues  himself  at  balls 
and  hunting  parties,  and  who  an- 
nually visits  some  bathing-place  to 
drown  the  ennui  that  assails  him  at 
home. 

We  all  knew  a  man  of  fortune 
who  led  such  a  life,  and  who  being 
at  length  seized  with  a  putrid  fe- 
ver, hurried  along  with  him  to  the 
grave  six  useful  persons  who  at- 
tended him  during  his  illness.  This 
circumstance  was  related  in  our 
circles  as  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
indifference;  but  ought  it  not  to 
have  revolted  our  feelings  as  much 
as  the  Indian  custom  of  slaughter- 
ing slaves  at  the  obsequies  of  their 
deceased  master?  But  how  the 
deuce  have  I  come  by  these  moral 
conceits,  the  most  unfit  that  I  could 
possibly  have  picked  up  to-accom- 
pany  me  to  the  entertainment  of  a 
wealthy  banker! 


A  doctor's  hat  has  this  advantage 
belonging  to  it,  that  let  us  be  in 
what  company  we  will,  whether 
tete-a-tete  with  a  pretty  woman, 
among  a  party  of  jolly  fellows,  or 
in  the  circle  of  the  fashionable 
world — in  short,  on  every  occasion 
when  it  is  in  our  way,  we  can  lay 
it  aside  like  any  ordinary  hat.  It 
continues  nevertheless  to  be  ours, 


together  with  all  its  claims  and 
prerogatives;  and  we  are  sure  to 
find  it  again  among  all  the  hats, 
fine  and  coarse,  which  have  been 
meanwhile  thrown  upon  or  about 
it.  Thus  have  I  too  brought  mine 
safe  home,  without  changing  it, 
and  as  I  shall  scarcely  put  it  on 
again  to  clay,  I  have  brushed  and 
hung  it  upon  a  peg  What  else 
could  I  do  with  it  just  now?  It 
would  not  particularly  set  off  ihe 
figure  which  I  now  cut  in  my  arm- 
chair, any  more  than  it  would  dis- 
pel the  indolence  that  alone  pre- 
vents me  from  enumerating  all  the 
exquisite  dishes  to  which  this  list- 
lessness  is  owing. 

I  have  spent  five  luxurious  hours 
in  forming  a  great  number  of  new 
acquaintances  —  not  among  the 
company  present — but  among  the 
dishes;  for  good  company  is  nearly 
alike  in  all  large  places,  but  not  so 
their  dishes.  The  science  of  edu- 
cation, though  every  where  carried 
to  so  high  a  pitch,  fails  but  too  fre- 
quently of  its  intended  effect.  It 
cuts  and  salts  and  dresses  its  sub- 
jects in  different  methods,  and  at 
last  produces  mere  made  dishes  or 
kickshaws,  that  exhibit  the  same 
appearance  in  every  country.  She 
is  far  less  expert  in  seconding  na- 
ture than  her  elder  sister  Cookery, 
who  so  skilfully  combines  the  pe- 
culiarities of  ever}*  region  with 
universal  experience,  that  every 
kind  of  fish,  flesh,  and  vegetable 
has  its  appropriate  sauce;  she  as- 
signsto  each  its  particular  pot,  and 
knows  to  a  nicety  how  much  water 
will  be  required  to  do  this,  and  how 
much  fire  to  dress  that. 

As,  however,  I  have  always  been 
of  opinion,  that  nothing  has  a  stron- 
ger tendency  to  produce  delicate 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    THE    SOUTH    OF    FRANCE. 


337 


sentiments,  highly  seasoned  sal- 
lie.s,  and  new  turns  of  wit,  than 
dishes  of  a  similar  quality,  I  can- 
not help  feeling  some  surprise, 
that,  considering  the  many  excel- 
lent dishes  which  Marseilles  pre- 
eminently affords,  the  Academy  of 
{Sciences  of  this  city  is  not  more 
distinguished.  Several  of  its  mem- 
bers were  of  our  party  to-day;  but, 
so  far  as  I  could  observe,  there  was 
noChaulieu,noLafontaine,  noAna- 
creon  amonsr  them,  though  not  one 

o  try 

forgot,  while  swallowing  the  deli- 
cacies set  before  him,  that  his 
tongue  was  an  organ  of  speech  as 
well  as  taste. 

Notwithstanding  all   this,  I  felt 
not  a  moment's  home  sickness  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  this  lono-  en  ter- 
es © 

tainment,  and  should  the  evening 
realize  what  M.  Frege  has  promis- 
ed, I  hope  to  be  exempt  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  from  this  patriotic  dis- 
order. He  assures  me,  you  must 
know,  that  a  ball,  to  which  he  has 
most  obligingly  given  me  his  ticket 
of  admission,  will  not  fail  to  con- 
vince me  of  the  superiority  of  the 
ladies  of  this  city  over  the  fair  sex 
in  every  other  part  of  the  world, 
without  exception.  I  paused  when 
he  told  me  so,  hastily  enumerated 
the  most  celebrated  beauties  of  our 
Berlin,  and  shook  my  head  some- 
what incredulously.  "Well,  coun- 
tryman," replied  M.  Frege,  "  you 
may  nevertheless  find  reason  to 
change  your  opinion  :  only  remem- 
ber to  take  a  good  glass  with  you." 
— "  That,  "  I  rejoined,  "  I  shall  not 
fail  to  do  ;  I  have  one  of  the  best 
that  ever  was  made,  and  that  has 
done  me  excellent  service  at  Cave- 
rac,  at  Avignon,  and  I  know  not 
how  many  more  places." — "  Well 
then,"  answered  he,  "  I  wish  you 
a  pleasant  evening,  and  am  sorry 


that  business  will  not  permit  me  to 
accompany  you." 

This  confidentassertion  of  a  per- 
son tenacious  of  truth,  of  a  Ger- 
man who  is  intimately  acquainted 
with  Leipzig,  Dresden,  Frankfort, 
and  Berlin,  and  who  resides  in  a 
place  to  which  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth  daily  resort  with  their 
commodities,  cannot  but  raise  m}' 
curiosity  to  the  highest  pitch.  If 
he  be  right,  one  would  almost  be 
tempted  to  believe  that  those  vaunt- 
ed dishes  operate  more  beneficially 
upon  the  external  than  upon  the 
internal  organs.  In  a  commercial 
and  seaport  town  this  circum- 
stance may  be  overlooked  ;  but 
were  Marseilles  a  university,  this 
phenomenon  would  do  more  mis- 
chief than  the  whole  philosophical 
faculty  could  prevent.  Believe 
me,  Edward,  if  I  go  to  the  ball,  it 
is  much  less  for  the  sake  of  plea- 
sure, than  to  decide  this  question, 
which  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
important  in  natural  history. 


The  ball  is  just  over — and  to 
what  nation  of  the  earth,  I  hear 
you  ask,  belongs  the  fairest  of  the 
fair  to  whom  you  would  adjudge 
the  apple?  Patience,  Edward,  I 
have  not  yet  time  to  chat  with  you; 
for  though  it  is  some  hours  past 
midnight,  my  eyes  are  still  too 
much  dazzled  by  the  objects  that 
have  glided  before  my  opera-glass, 
for  me  to  close  them  in  a  huriy. 
Amidst  the  optic  beams  of  beauty, 
and  the  magic  tones  of  music,  which 
I  have  so  profusely  imbibed,  that  I 
could  give  out  fire  like  a  flint,  and 
harmony  like  an  JEolian  harp,  I 
have  not  only  succeeded  in  com- 
pletely settling  the  important  point 
in  dispute  between  the  fair  of  all 
nations,  but  have  accidentally  hit 


338 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS   IN    THE    SOUTH    iff   FRANCE. 


upon  a  singular  discovery;  that  is, 
how  new  measures,  in  which  our 
poetry  is  so  deficient,  may  be  pro- 
duced without  any  intense  study. 

This  operation  is  perfectly  easy 
to  any  one,  who,  like  me,  cannot 
help  keeping  time  with  every  word 
that  he  speaks  and  thinks  during 
and  after  a  ball.  Let  him  but  place 
the  feet  of  his  verses  in  the  same 
order,  variation,  and  measure,  as 
a  fair  dancer  gives  to  hers,  and  he 
will  perceive  with  admiration  how 
many  different  measures,  which  no 
poet  ever  yet  thought  of,  will  be 
formed  by  her  harmonious  steps. 
When  I  see  you  again,  I  shall  shew 
you,  as  a  specimen  of  my  new  in- 
vention, the  first  impression  of  the 
whole  upon  my  astonished  senses, 
in  no  other  than  such  borrowed 
verses.  I  caught  the  metre  from 
merely  the  last  movements  of  the 
dance,  which  was  just  finishing  as 
I  entered  the  room. 

I  immediately  prepared  to  ex- 
ercise my  judicial  office,  applied 
my  opera-glass  to  my  eye,  and  as 
a  florist  in  the  gardens  of  Harlem 
passes  in  silent  contemplation  from 
the  auricula  to  the  carnation,  and 
from  the  hyacinth  to  the  tulip  ;  de- 
scends with  his  remarks  from  the 
corolla  to  the  peduncle,  and  from 
the  latter  with  bold  inferences  to 
the  hidden  root;  here  admires  in 
one  flower  the  large  circumference 
of  its  ample  leaves,  there  in  an- 
other the  more  concentrated  beau- 
ties of  its  calix,  and  surveys  them 
all  several  times  before  he  returns 
with  the  result  of  his  comparisons 
to  that  flower  which  has  most  en- 
chanted him:  so  conscientiously 
did  I  pursue  ray  investigation,  un- 
tired  by  the  review,  winch  I  always 
recommence'.!  with  fresh  pleasure, 


and  long  undecided  what  judgment 
to  pass  upon  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth.  At  length,  after  examining 
these  exquisite  flowers  of  the  phy- 
sical world  in  every  point  of  view, 
after  re-examining  and  comparing 
them  together,  my  impartiality 
could  do  no  other  than  coincide 
with  M.  Frege,  and  adjudge  to  the 
natives  the  pre-eminence  in  beauty 
above  all  the  foreign  ladies  whom 
I  saw  intermixed  with  them.  I  can 
neither  help  you,  ye  ardent  biack- 
eyed  damsels  of  Italy,  nor  you,  ye 
elegant  daughters  of  England,  nor 
you,  my  lovely  fair-complexioned 
countrywomen  — nor  all  you  whom 
Spain,  and  Poland,  and  Russia,  and 
Sweden,  and  Denmark,  deputed 
to  appear  before  my  tribunal.  In 
you,  indeed,  I  was  moved,  daz- 
zled, and  transported  by  individual 
charms,  but  in  none  were  they  so 
harmoniously,  so  faultlessly,  and 
so  manifestly  combined,  as  in  the 
ethereal  forms  of  Marseilles.  No 
one  resembled  the  other,  and  yet 
each  was  perfect. 

M.  Frege  was  in  the  right.  He 
continued  to  be  in  the  right  from 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  till 
past  midnight;  but  jnst  as  the  clock 
struck  one,  a  fair  Greek  presented 
herself  as  a  competitor  for  the 
prize,  and  I  was  forced  with  shame 
to  retract  my  decision.  A  favour- 
able wind  had  wafted  her  an  hour 
before  into  the  port,  under  the  care 
of  her  uncle,  the  famous  Chevalier 
de  Tott.  He  who  had  for  many- 
years  defended  the  Dardanelles, 
and  taught  the  infidels  to  conquer, 
had  won  for  himself  a  beautiful 
Circassian*  and  now  prudently  re- 
tired with  his  wealth,  his  wife,  and 
her  niece,  to  France. 

Too  long  had  this  peerless  dam~ 


SENTIMENTAL   TRAVELS    IN    THE    SOUTH    OP    FRANCE. 


339 


sel,  in  the  close  confinement  of  a 
vessel,  been  obliged  to  dispense 
witbtlie  tribute  to  which  her  charms 
were  accustomed  ;  too  long  had  she 
been  estranged  from  her  finery  and 
the  amusement  of  dancing.  It  is 
easy  to  conceive  with  what  impa- 
tience she  looked  forward  to  her 
landing.  "  Heaven  be  praised  I" 
exclaimed  the  chevalier,  as  he  en- 
tered the  harbour,  "  we  have  now 
reached  the  wealthiest  city  in  my 
native  country,  and  the  best  asy- 
lum against  ennui.  You  have  now 
only  to  choose,  my  dear.  What 
kind  of  recreation  would  you  pre- 
fer ?"— "  A  ball,"  replied  the  la- 
dv;  quitted  the  open  sea  for  an 
open  mirror,  hurried  perhaps  too 
much  with  her  toilet,  and  now  rose 
above  the  horizon  of  our  brilliant 
fete,  like  the  star  of  morning 
eclipsing  a  whole  galaxy. 

The  female  part  of  the  company 
conceived  an  evident  and  very  just 
displeasure  at  her  appearance ;  for 
not  one  of  the  other  sex  remained 
so  true  to  his  partner,  as  not  to 
turn  his  eyes  from  her,  and  greet 
with  admiration  the  entrance  of  this 
new  idol. 

But  before  I  proceed  with  my 
story,  I  cannot  help  remarking, 
Edward,  that  this  is  the  fourth 
niece  whom  my  journal  has  intro- 
duced to  your  acquaintance.  As 
a  writer  of  delicate  moral  feeling, 
this  accidental  circumstance  can- 
not be  otherwise  than  agreeable  to 
me;  for  I  should  be  extremely  sor- 
ry if  I  had  to  say  of  a  daughter 
what  I  occasionally  narrate  without 
scruple  of  a  niece.  Though  I  am 
no  more  related  than  the  reader 
either  to  the  one  or  the  other,  still 
it  is  certain,  that  we  feel  more  cor- 
dial sympathy  with  daughters  than 


with  nieces,  on  account  of  any  un- 
pleasant circumstances  in  which 
they  happen  to  be  involved.  In  a 
word,  when  we  hear  mention  made 
of  merely  an  uncle,  aunt,  or  guar- 
dian, we  seem  to  experience  a  kind 
of  joy  that  neither  father  nor  mo- 
ther has  lived  to  witness  the  dis- 
tinctions in  which  a  traveller,  like 
myself,  Cook,  or  Vaillant,  is  often 
compelled  to  exhibit  such  charm- 
ing creatures  to  the  curious  eye  of 
the  world.  It  would  indeed  be 
more  prudent  in  me  to  throw  down 
my  pen,  and  repair  to  bed,  if  I  knew 
any  other   way  of  ridding  myself 

But  why  this  circumlocution? 

Wherefore  should  I  conceal  from 
you  what  happened  at  a  public  ball, 
and  what  to-day,  which  is  already 
breaking,  one  half  of  the  city  will 
whisper  as  a  piece  of  news  to  the 
other,  at  the  risk  of  driving  by 
their  tattle  the  beauteous  stranger 
for  ever  from  their  walls ! 

It  had  just  struck  one,  then,  as 
I  before  observed,  when  the  niece 
of  the  valiant  Tott,  hanging  on  his 
arm,  entered  the  astonished  throng. 
As  she  passed  gracefully  through 
their  ranks,  envy  took  possession 
of  one  sex,  and  desire  of  the  other. 
A  train  of  admiring  youths  follow- 
ed this  phcenix  of  the  East,  but 
for  some  time  none  of  them  could 
muster  sufficient  courage  to  ap- 
proach her.  At  length,  a  knight 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  a  knight 
of  the  Papal  Spur,  advanced  at 
once,  and  respectfully  solicited 
the  honour  of  her  hand.  Without 
deigning  to  look  ateither,  she  gave 
it  to  the  latter,  who  threaded  with 
her  the  mazes  of  the  dance,  till,  in 
an  unlucky  waltz,  his  lovely  part- 
ner fainted  away.  She  fell — alas! 
not  sq  decently,  but  far  more  beau- 


340 


OKIGIN    OF   RAUNKLL's   "  HERMIT 


tifully  than  Caesar  of  old.  The 
other  females  ran  off  tittering  at 
the  situation  of  the  object  of  their 
envy;  but  the  men,  and  myself 
among  the  rest,  maintained  a  de- 
corous silence,  and  advanced  near- 
er. In  this  dilemma,  the  chevalier 
manifested  his  accustomed  pre- 
sence of  mind;  for  no  sooner  was 
he  aware  of  the  unprotected  state 
of  his  niece,  than,  dashing  through 
the  gazing  crowd,  he  rescued  the 
insensible  fair-one  from  her  pain- 
ful situation.  The  lightning  of  his 
dark  eye  dispersed  the  bystanders. 
When  the  innocent  cause  of  all 
this  bustle  had  come  to  herself,  he 
gave  her  his  arm ;  and  deeply 
blushing,  she  hastened  through  the 
buzzing  crowd  of  men,  who  were 
unanimous  in  their  praises  of  Gre- 
cian charms.  For  my  part,  as  um- 
pire, 1  no  longer  hesitated  about 
my  decision,  which,  with  the  full 
accord  of  all  the  witnesses,  assign- 
ed the  prize  to  the  lovely  girl,  who 


had  furnished  more  convincing 
proofs  of  her  superior  attractions 
than  Venus  herself.  The  atmo- 
sphere of  Greece  alone,  as  Winkel- 
maiui  tells  us,  is  congenial  to  the 
graces:  she  has  confirmed  this  po- 
sition of  the  German  archaeologist, 
and  fully  established  the  claim  of 
Greece  to  the  title  of  the  workshop 
of  beautiful  Nature.  Such  too  is 
the  judgment  which  I  pronounce, 
and  which  I  shall  maintain  till 
Fortune  throws  in  my  way  some 
female  whose  superior  claims  shall 
demand  its  reversal.  The  men  ap- 
plauded this  decision;  but  the  fe- 
male part  of  the  company  appeal- 
ed against  it,  one  railing  against 
my  taste,  and  another  protesting 
that  I  must  certainly  be  blind. 
Against  these  attacks  I  had  no 
other  expedient  than  flight;  and 
to  cool  the  ferment  of  my  blood 
before  I  retire  to  rest,  I  have  de- 
voted an  hour  to  this  account  of 
the  events  of  the  evening. 


ORIGIN  OF  PARNELL'S  «  HERMIT. 


Thk  following  letter  from  the 
celebrated  James  Howel  to  the 
Earl  of  Hertford,  contains  what  has 
not  hitherto  been  published — the 
original  from  which  Dr.  Parnell 
borrowed  the  idea  and  plan  of  his 
apologue  called  "  The  Hermit." 
Some  of  the  circumstances  were  of 
course  varied  and  improved  by  the 
ingenuity  of  the  versifier  of  the 
narrative.  Voltaire's  Zadig  is  con- 
structed upon  a  similar  foundation, 
as  our  readers  are  no  doubt  aware. 

Mi/  Lord, 

I  received  your  lordship's 
of  the  11th  current,  with  the  com- 
mands it  carried,  whereof  I  shall 
give  an  account  in  mv  next.     Fo- 


reign parts  afford  not  much  matter 
of  intelligence,  it  being  now  the 
dead  of  winter,  and  the  season  un- 
fit for  action.  But  we  need  not  go 
abroad  for  news,  there  is  store 
enough  at  home.  We  see  daily 
mighty  things,  and  they  are  mar- 
vellous in  our  eyes  ;  but  the  great- 
est marvel  is,  that  nothing  should 
now  be  marvelled  at :  for  we  are  so 
habituated  to  wonders,  that  they 
are  grown  familiar  unto  us. 

Poor  England  may  be  said  to  be 
like  a  ship  tossed  up  and  down  the 
surges  of  a  turbulent  sea,  having 
lost  her  old  pilot;  and  God  knows 
when  she  can  get  into  safe  harbour 
again :  yet  doubtless  this  tempest, 


ORIGIN    OF   PAR  NULL'S   "  II  OMIT." 


341 


according  to  the  usual  operations 
of  nature,  and  the  succession  of 
mundane  effects  bycontrary  agents, 
will  turn  at  last  into  a  calm,  though 
many  wiio  are  yet  in  their  nonage 
may  not  live  to  see  it. 

Your  lordship  knows  that  this  fair 
frame  of  the  universe  came  out  of 
a  chaos,  an  indigested  lump;  and 
that  this  elementary  world  was 
made  of  millions  of  ingredients 
repugnant  to  themselves  in  nature; 
and  the  whole  is  still  preserved  by 
the  reluctancy  and  restless  com- 
batings  of  these  principles.  We 
see  how  the  shipwright  doth  make 
use  of  knee-timber  and  other  cross- 
grained  pieces,  as  well  as  of 
straight  and  even,  for  framing  a 
goodly  vessel  to  ride  on  Neptune's 
back.  The  printer  useth  many- 
contrary  characters  in  his  art  to 
put  forth  a  fair  volume,  as  d  is  a  p 
reversed,  and  n  is  a  u  turned  up- 
ward, with  other  differing  letters, 
which  yet  concur  all  to  the  perfec- 
tion of  the  whole  work.  There  go 
many  and  various  dissonant  tones 
to  make  an  harmonious  concert. 
This  puts  me  in  mind  of  an  excel- 
lent passage  which  a  noble  specu- 
lative knight  (Sir  P.  Herbert)  hath 
in  his  late  conceptions  to  his  son  : 
how  a  holy  anchorite  being  in  a 
wilderness,  among  other  contem- 
plations, he  fell  to  admire  the  me- 
thod of  Providence,  hoyv,  out  of 
causes  which  seem  bad  to  us,  he 
produceth  oftentimes  good  effects; 
how  he  suffers  virtuous,  loyal,  and 
religious  men  to  be  oppressed,  and 
others  to  prosper.  As  heyvas trans- 
ported with  these  ideas,  a  goodly 
young  man  appeared  unto  him,  and 
told  him  :  "  Father,  I  know  your 
thoughts  are  distracted,  and  I  am 
sent  to   quiet  them:  therefore,  if 


you  will  accompany  me  a  few  days, 
you  shall  return  very  well  satisfied 
of  those  doubts  that  now  encum- 
ber your  mind."  So  going  along 
with  him,  they  were  to  pass  over  a 
deep  river,  whereon  there  was  a 
narrow  bridge,  and  meeting  there 
with  another  passenger,  the  young 
man  jostled  him  into  the  water, 
and  so  drowned  him.  The  old  an- 
chorite being  much  astonished 
hereat,  would  have  left  him,  but 
his  guide  said,  "  Father,  be  not 
amazed,  because  I  shall  give  you 
good  reasons  for  what  I  do,  and 
you  shall  see  stranger  things  than 
this  before  you  and  I  part;  but  at 
last  I  shall  settle  your  judgment, 
and  put  your  mind  in  full  repose." 
So  going  that  night  to  lodge  in  an 
inn,  where  there  was  a  crew  of 
banditti  and  debauched  ruffians, the 
young  man  struck  into  their  com- 
pany, and  revelling  with  them  till 
morning,  while  the  anchorite  spent 
most  of  the  night  in  numbering 
his  beads;  but  as  soon  as  they  were 
departed  thence,  they  met  with 
some  officers  who  went  to  appre- 
hend that  crew  of  banditti  they  had 
left  behind  them.  The  next  day 
they  came  to  a  gentleman's  house, 
which  was  a  fair  palace,  where 
they  received  all  the  courteous 
hospitality  which  could  be;  but, 
in  the  morning,  as  they  parted, 
there  was  a  child  in  a  cradle,  which 
was  the  only  son  of  the  gentleman, 
and  the  young  man  espying  his  op- 
portunity, strangled  the  child,  and 
so  got  away.  The  third  day  they 
came  to  another  inn,  where  the 
man  of  the  house  treated  them  with 
all  the  civility  that  could  be,  and 
gratis:  yet  the  young  man  embez- 
zled a  silver  goblet,  and  carried 
it  away  in  his  pocket,  which  still 


542 


ORIGIN    OP   I'AIt>;  F  I.L'S   "  HERMIT.' 


increased  the  amazement  of  the 
anchorite.  The  fourth  day,  in  the 
evening,  they  came  to  lodge  at 
another  inn,  where  the  host  was  ve- 
ry sullen  and  uncivil  to  them,  ex- 
acting much  more  than  the  value 
of  what  they  had  spent;  yet,  at 
parting,  the  young  man  bestowed 
upon  him  the  silver  goblet  he  had 
stolen  from  that  host  who  had  used 
them  kindly.  The  fifth  day  they 
made  towards  a  great  rich  town; 
but  some  miles  before  they  came 
at  it,  thejr  met  with  a  merchant  at 
the  close  of  the  day,  who  had  a 
great  charge  of  money  about  him, 
and  asking  him  the  next  passage 
to  the  town,  the  young  man  put 
him  in  a  clean  contrary  way.  The 
anchoriteand  his  guide  being  come 
to  the  town,  at  the  gate  they  espi- 
ed a  devil,  who  lay  as  it  were  sen- 
tinel, but  he  was  asleep  ;  they  found 
also  both  men  and  women  at  sun- 
dry kinds  of  sports,  some  dancing, 
others  singing,  with  divqrs  sorts 
of  revellings.  They  went  after- 
wards to  a  convent  of  Capuchins, 
where  about  the  gate  they  found 
legions  of  devils  laying  siege  to 
that  monastery  :  yet  they  got  in, 
and  lodged  there  the  night.  Being 
awaked  the  next  morning,  the 
young  man  came  to  that  cell  where 
the  anchorite  was  lodged,  and  told 
him,  "  I  know  your  heart  is  full  of 
horror,  and  your  head  full  of  con- 
fusion, astonishments,  and  doubts, 
for  what  you  have  seen  since  the 
first  time  of  our  association.  But 
know  I  am  an  anjjel  sent  from  Hea- 
ven  to  rectify  your  judgment,  as 
also  to  correct  a  little  your  curio- 
sity in  the  researches  of  the  ways 
and  acts  of  Providence  too  far; 
for  though  separately  they  seem 
strange  to  the  shallow  apprehen- 


sion of  man,  yet  conjunctly  they 
all  tend  to  produce  good  effects. 

"  That  man  whom  I  tumbled  in- 
to the  river  was  an  act  of  Provi- 
dence, for  he  was  going  upon  a 
most  mischievous  design,  that 
would  have  damnified  not  only  his 
own  soul,  but  destroyed  the  party 
against  whom  it  was  intended; 
therefore  I  prevented  it. 

"  The  cause  why  I  conversed  all 
night  with  a  crew  of  rogues  was 
also  an  act  of  Providence  ;  for  they 
intended  to  go  robbing  all  that 
night,  but  I  kept  them  there  pur- 
posely till  the  next  morning,  that 
the  hand  of  justice  might  seize 
upon  them. 

"  Touching  the  kind  host  from 
whom  I  took  the  silver  goblet,  and 
the  clownish  or  knavish  host  to 
whom  I  gave  it,  let  this  demon- 
strate to  you,  that  good  men  are 
liable  to  crosses  and  losses,  where- 
of bad  men  oftentimes  reap  the 
benefit,  but  it  commonly  produces 
patience  in  the  one,  and  pride  iu 
the  other. 

M  Concerning  that  noble  sren- 
tleman  whose  child  I  strangled,  af- 
ter so  courteous  an  entertainment, 
know,  that  that  also  was  an  act  of 
Providence;  for  the  gentleman 
was  so  indulgent  and  doting  on 
that  child,  that  it  lessened  his  love 
to  Heaven ;  so  I  took  away  the 
cause. 

"  Touching  the  merchant  whom 
I  misguided  in  his  way,  it  was 
likewise  an  act  of  Providence;  for 
had  he  gone  the  direct  waj?  to  this 
town,  he  had  been  robbed  and  his 
throat  cut ;  therefore  I  preserved 
him  by  that  deviation. 

"  In'ow,  concerning  this  great 
luxurious  city,  whereas  we  spied 
but  one  devil  who  lay  asleep  with- 


LITERARY,    HISTORICAL,   AND    PERSONAL  ANECDOTES. 


543 


out  the  gate,  there  being  so  many  i 
about  this  poor  convent,  you  must 
consider  that  Lucifer  being  alrea- 
dy assured  of  that  righteous  town 
by  corrupting  their  manners  every 
day  more  and  more,  he  needs  but 
onesingle sentinel  to  secure  it :  but 
for  this  holy  place  of  retirement, 
this  monastery, inhabited  by  so  ma- 
ny devout  souls,  who  spend  their 
whole  lives  in  acts  of  mortification, 
as  exercises  of  piety  and  penance, 
he  hath  brought  so  many  legions 
to  beleaguer  them  ;  yet  he  can  do 
no  good  upon  them,  for  they  bear 
up  against  him  most  undauntedly, 
maugre  all  his  infernal  power  and 
stratagem."  So  the  young  man, 
or  divine  messenger,  suddenly  dis- 
appeared and  vanished  ;  yet  leav- 
ing his  fellow-traveller  in  good 
hands. 

My  lord,  I  crave  your  pardon 
for  this  extravagancy,  and  the  te- 
diousness,  but  I  hope  the  sublimity 
of  the  matter  will  make  some  com- 
pensation, which,  if  I  am  not  de- 


ceived, will  well  suit  with  your  ge- 
nius; for  I  know  your  contempla- 
tions to  be  as  high  as  your  condi- 
tion, and  as  much  above  the  vulgar. 
This  figurative  story  shews  that  the 
ways  of  Providence  are  inscruta- 
ble ;  his  intention  and  method  of 
operation  not  conformable  often- 
times to  human  judgment,  the 
plummet  and  line  whereof  are  in- 
finitely too  short  to  fathom  the 
depth  of  his  designs:  therefore  let 
us  acquiesce  in  an  humble  admi- 
ration, and  with  the  confidence 
that  all  things  co-operate  to  the 
best  at  last,  as  they  relate  to  his 
glory,  and  the  general  good  of  his 
creatures,  though  sometimes  they 
appear  to  us  by  uncouth  circum- 
stances and  cross  mediums. 

So  in  due  distance  and  posture 
of  humility,  I  kiss  your  lordship's 
hands,  as  being,  my  most  highly 
honoured  lord,  your  thrice  obedi- 
ent and  obliged  servant, 

J.  HOWEL. 


LITERARY,  HISTORICAL,  AND  PERSONAL  ANECDOTES. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 

TUS  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
attended  Queen  Elizabeth  in  the 
last  moments  of  her  life.  He  en- 
deavoured to  console  her,  by  say- 
ing she  had  every  thing  to  hope 
from  the  mercy  of  the  Almighty, 
for  her  piety,  her  zeal,  and  the 
admirable  work  of  the  Reformation 
which  she  had  so  happily  esta- 
blished. 

The  queen,  who  had  turned  to 
the  other  side  of  the  bed,  inter- 
rupted the  archbishop  by  saying, 
"  My  lord,  the  crown  which  I  wore 
for  many  years  made  me  suffici- 
Vol  X.  No.  LX. 


ently  vain  while  I  lived ;  I  beg 
you  will  not  now  increase  it  while 
I  am  so  near  death." 

After  this,  her  respiration  failed  ; 
she  fell  into  agonies  that  lasted 
eighteen  hours,  and  then  expired. 


ANTIPATHIES. 

Under  this  article,  it  is  our  in- 
tention merely  to  relate  some  very 
remarkable  antipathies,  and  not 
to  inquire  into  their  causes,  that 
:  being  a  subject  which  we  must 
leave  to  the  more  profound  phi- 
j  losopher. 

A     lady,    a    native    of   France, 
Z  z 


344 


LITERARY,    HISTORICAL,   AND    PERSONAL   ANECDOTES. 


though    a    native   of 


would  faint  on  seeing  boiled  lob- 
sters. Some  other  persons  of  the 
same  country  would  experience 
the  same  inconvenience  from  the 
smell  of  roses,  though  particularly 
partial  to  the  odour  of  jonquils  or 
tuberoses. 

1  have  read  of  a  gentleman  who 
would  fall  into  convulsions  at  the 
sight  of  a  carp 

Erasmus 

Rotterdam,  had  such  an  aversion 

to  fish,  that  the  smell  of  it  gave 

him  a  fever. 

Ambrose  Pare  mentions  a  gen- 
es 

tleinan  who  never  could  see  an  eel 
without  fainting. 

Joseph  Scaliger  and  Peter  Abo- 
no  never  could  drink  milk. 

Cardon  was  particularly  disgust- 
ed at  the  sight  of  eggs. 

Uladislaus  King  of  Poland  could 
not  bear  to  see  apples. 

If  an  apple  were  shewn  toChesne, 
secretary  to  Francis  I.  a  prodigious 
quantity  of  blood  would  issue  from 
liis  nose. 

Henry  III.  of  France  could  ne- 
ver sit  in  a  room  with  a  cat. 

The  Duke  of  Schomberg  had 
the  same  kind  of  antipathy. 

A  gentleman  in  the  court  of  the 
Emperor  Ferdinand  would  bleed 
at  the  nose  on  hearing  the'mewing 
of  a  cat,  however  great  the  dis- 
tance might  be  from  him. 

M.  de  Lahore,  in  his  Tableau  de 
toutes  Chases,  gives  an  account  of  a 
very  sensible  man  who  was  so  ter- 
rified at  seeing  a  hedgehog,  that 
for  two  years  be  imagined  his  bow- 
els  were  gnawed  by  such  an  animal. 

In  the  same  book  we  find  an  ac- 
count of  a  very  brave  officer  who 
never  dared  to  look  at  a  mouse,  it 
would  so  terrify  him,  unless  he  had 
his  sword  in  his  hand.  M.deLancre 
says  he  knew  him  perfectly  well. 


There  are  some  persons  who 
cannot  bear  to  see  spiders,  and 
others  who  eat  them  for  a  luxury. 

Mr.  Vangheim,  a  great  hunts- 
man in  Hanover,  would  faint,  or 
if  he  had  sufficient  time  would  run 
away,  at  the  sight  of  a  roast  pig. 

The  philosopher  Chrysippus  had 
such  an  aversion  to  being  reve- 
renced, that  if  any  one  saluted  him 
he  would  fall  down. 

John  Rol,  a  gentleman  in  Alcan- 
tara, would  swoon  on  hearing  the 
word  laiia  (wool)  pronounced,  al- 
though his  cloak  was  made  of  wool. 


DEATH-WATCHIiS. 

Of  these  death-watches,  or  in- 
sects, there  are  two  sorts  :  one  is 
about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in  length, 
of  a  dark  dirty  colour,  with  a  broad 
helmet  over  its  head,  under  which, 
when  quiet,  it  draws  up  its  head  ; 
so  that  this  helmet,  when  the  in- 
sect rests,  is  a  very  considerable 
defence  against  such  falls  as  are 
frequent  in  rotten  and  decayed 
places,  which  are  the  habitations 
of  this  species  of  insect. 

The  other  death-watch  is  a  small 
greyish  insect,  much  resembling  a 
louse. 

Both  these  insects  have  wings, 
but  not  perceptible  to  the  naked 
eye. 

The  tinkling  noise  of  these  in- 
sects, which  is  generally  consider- 
ed by  the  superstitious  and  ignorant 
as  portentous  of  death;  and  even 
our  poet  Gay  has  said, 

"  The  solemn  death-watch  click \1  the  hour 
she  died  ;" 

is  nothing  more  than  an  amorous 
notice  to  each  other,  or  when  they 
eat.  The  noise  is  produced  by 
striking  their  foreheads  against  the 
place  they  lodge  in,  which  is  either 
in  or  near  paper. 


LITERARY,  HISTORICAL,  AND   PERSONAL  ANECDOTES. 


345 


The  former  of  these  insects  sel- 
dom beats  above  seven  or  eight 
strokes,  and  those  very  quickly  ; 
but  the  latter  will  beat  many  hours 
without  intermission,  and  more  lei- 
surely. 


MARRIAGE    CEREMONIES   AMONG 
THE    CAUIBBEES. 

P.  Guniilla,  in  his  book  entitled 
UOrignogue  illustree,  says  the  Ca- 
ribbees  make  their  daughters  fast 
four  days  preceding  their  marriage. 
The  ceremonies  of  their  marriages 
are  very  singular.  The  men  and 
women  are  crowned  with  flowers; 
and  they  assemble  in  a  wood  at  the 
sound  of  a  great  number  of  vari- 
ous instruments,  with  their  chief 
marching  in  the  front;  and  before  , 
they  quit  the  wood,  a  plate  of  meat : 
is  brought,  which  the  chief  throws 
upon  the  ground,  saying  these 
words:  "  There,  take  that,  thou 
wicked  demon,  and  leave  us  in 
tranquillity  this  day." 

The  company  then  goes  dancing 
all  the  way  to  the  door  of  the  new- 
married  couple ;  they  find  them 
walking  in  a  circle  of  old  women, 
half  of  them  crying,  and  the  other 
half  laughing  heartily:  the  first 
party  sings  these  words :  "  Oh !  my 
child,  if  you  knew  the  trouble  and 
embarrassments  in  taking  care  of 
a  family,  you  would  not  have  tak- 
en a  husband."  The  second  party 
sings:  "  Ah!  my  child,  if  you 
knew  the  pleasures  of  taking  care 
of  a  family,  you  would  have  taken 
a  husband  long  since." 

Thus  the  young  men  and  wo- 
men dance,  the  old  wdmen  cry  and 
laugh,  the  musicians  make  a  great 
noise,  the  children  cry  loudly,  and 
the  new-married  couple  remain  si- 
lent spectators:  at  length  they  ar- 


range themselves  round  a  table 
covered  with  turtles  ;  they  all  get 
drunk,  and  remain  drinking  till 
next  day. 


TO.BACCO. 

In  the  collection  of  Bulls  depo- 
sited in  the  Seraphim,  there  is  a 
remarkable  one  of  Pope  Ur- 
ban VIII.  against  the  use  of  tobac- 
co :  by  it,  all  persons  who  take 
snuff  in  church  are  excommunica- 
ted. It  is  added,  that  the  reason 
of  its  being  issued,  is,  to  remedy 
the  very  just  complaints  of  the 
dean  and  chapter  of  the  cathedral 
at  Seville. 

The  priests  in  Spain  were  very 
much  addicted  to  snult-taking  un- 
til the  promulgation  of  this  bull. 

The  Abbe  Xissino  says,  it  was 
the  devil  who  first  brought  tobac- 
co from  India  into  Spain,  and  in- 
troduced it  all  over  Europe. 

Monsieur  Nicot  was  the  first  who 
introduced  tobacco  in  France,  af- 
ter whom  it  was  called  Nicotiana. 


MICHAEL   ANGELO. 

At  the  time  that  Michael  Ange- 
lo  flourished,  the  connoisseurs  (as 
they  called  themselves)  preferred 
the  works  of  the  ancients  to  the 
moderns.  This  preference  gave 
him  much  disgust ;  and  in  order 
to  expose  the  ignorance  and  injus- 
tice of  these  judges,  he  adopted 
the  following  expedient. 

Privately  he  made  a  beautiful 
marble  figure,  with  all  the  perfec- 
tion and  elegance  he  was  capable 
of  bestowing.  When  it  was  en- 
tirely finished,  he  broke  off  one  of 
its  arms,  which  he  concealed  at 
home;  and  by  the  power  of  his  art, 
he  crave  the  rest  of  the  figure  all 
the  appearance  of  an  antique. 
Z   z  12 


346 


TAMKAMBA,   AND    HTS   COURT. 


He  buried  it  in  a  place  which 
he  knew  would  soon  be  dug  up  to 
lay  the  foundation  of  some  build- 
ing ;  soon  after  this,  as  he  expect- 
ed, the  workmen  found  the  figure, 
and  it  was  immediately  exposed  to 
the  inspection  of  the  curious :  on 
examining  it,  nothing  was  heard 
but  the  greatest  applauses  of  the 
ancients;  and  the  moderns  were 
only  mentioned  with  the  greatest 
contempt. 

Michael  Angelo,  who,    among 


the  rest,  went  to  see  the  statue,  pa- 
tiently listened  to  the  unjust  re- 
marks of  these  great  connoisseurs, 
and  then  shewed  the  arm  which 
belonged  to  it,  and  proved  to  them, 
by  the  exactness  with  which  he 
placed  it  to  the  shoulder,  that  it 
was  his  production. 

Thus  did  he  establish  the  honour 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and 
confounded  those  who  prided  them- 
selves on  their  great  powers  of 
judging. 


TAMEAMEA  KING  OF  THE  SANDWICH  ISLANDS,  AND 

HIS  COURT. 


It  will  be  recollected  by  our 
readers,  that  a  few  years  since  a 
Russian  vessel  was  equipped  at 
the  expense  of  Count  Romanzoff, 
for  the  purpose  of  seeking  a  north- 
east passage  between  the  Pacific 
and  Atlantic  Oceans.  The  com- 
mand of  this  vessel,  the  Rurick, 
was  given  to  Lieutenant  Otto  von 
Kotzebue,  a  son  of  the  late  cele- 
brated dramatic  writer  of  that  name. 
A  narrative  of  this  voyage  in  Ger- 
man is  now  preparing  for  publica- 
tion :  we  have  been  favoured  with 
the  following  specimen,  which 
cannot  fail  to  give  the  English 
reader  a  high  idea  of  the.  interest 
that  may  be  expected  from  the 
work,  which  will  be  illustrated  with 
twenty  plates  and  seven  charts. 


Sandwich  Island*,  Nov.  23,  1816. 

Owing  to  the  light  winds,  we 
made  but  little  way  the  whole  day. 
Early  in  the  morning,  a  canoe  came 
along-side  to  inquire  what  kind  of 
a  ship  ours  was,  and  to  bring   us 


ward ;  where,  however,  he  would 
only  pass  the  night,  intending  to- 
morrow to  proceed  still  farther  to 
the  north  along  the  coast.  I  im- 
mediately sent  back  the  canoe  to 
the  king  with  this  message:  That 
it  was  a  Russian  ship  of  war,  which 
had  come  with  friendly  views ;  that 
its  commander  was  desirous  of  an 
interview  with  his  majesty,  and 
therefore  requested  him  not  to 
quit  Teiatatua,  where  he  hoped  to 
arrive  to-morrow.  In  the  following 
night  a  brisk  wind  carried  us  near 
to  the  Litter  place.  The  current 
set  in  the  daytime  to  the  north, 
and  at  night  to  the  south,  parallel 
to  the  coast,  which  is  a  consequence 
of  the  land  and  sea  breezes. 

Nov.  24. 
At  daybreak  we  were  approach- 
ing the  bay.  Some  boats,  despatch- 
ed by  the  king,  came  to  meet  us, 
and  I  availed  myself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  send  Elliott,  with  the  sci- 
entific gentlemen,  to  the  shore,  to 
acquaint  the  king  with  the  object 
of  our  expedition.     As  the  island 


intelligence  that  the  king  had  left 

Karakakoa  and  gone  to  Teiatatua,  jj  of  Owhyhee  contains  no  commo- 

a  small  bay  some  miles  to  the  north-  j  dious  harbour,  I   had  resolved,  as 


TAMEAMf'A,    AMD    niS    COURT. 


347 


soon  as  I  should  have  arranged 
with  the  king  for  a  supply  of  pro- 
visions, to  sail  to  the  island  of  Wa- 
hu,  where,  as  Elliott  assured  me, 
there  was  a  more  secure  haven,  not 
yet  mentioned  by  any  voyager:  I 
therefore  left  the  Rurick  under  sail, 
and  stood  off  and  on  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  coast.  About  eight 
in  the  morning,  Elliott,  having 
successfully  performed  his  errand, 
returned  on  board,  with  two  chiefs 
of  the  country,  one  of  them  bro- 
ther to  the  queen,  who  welcomed 
us  in  the  name  of  his  majesty. 
They  were  a  couple  of  uncommon- 
ly tall  stout  men,  whose  dress, 
agreeably  to  the  newest  fashion  of 
Owhyhee,  struck  us  much,  as  it 
consisted  only  of  a  black  frock,  and 
a  small  white  straw  hat.  The  Ame- 
rican ship  which  we  had  seen  at 
Karakakoa,  now  sailed  past  us  to 
Teiatatua,  where  she  came  to  an- 
chor, though  ships  cannot  lie  with 
safety  in  that  bay,  because  it  is 
open,  and  the  bottom  is  of  coral. 
Elliott  informed  me  that  the  king 
actually  expected  the  arrival  of 
the  enemy's  vessel,  and  had  in- 
stantly issued  orders  to  line  the 
whole  coast  with  troops,  who,  to 
the  number  of  400,  armed  with 
muskets,  were  already  at  their 
posts.  The  king  sent  me  word, 
that  he  regretted  much  that  he 
could  not  pay  me  a  visit  on  board, 
as  his  jealous  people  would  not  al- 
low him  to  do  so,  but  that  he  him- 
self had  a  better  opinion  of  us; 
and  therefore,  in  token  of  his 
friendly  sentiments,  he  invited  us 
to  his  residence,  where  he  would 
entertain  me  with  a  hog  roasted  in 
the  earth.  For  my  security,  he  had 
commanded  one  of  his  chiefs  to 
remain  on  board  as  lon<;  as  I  should 


be  on  shore;  and  thus,  about  ten 
o'clock,  I  went  on  shore,  accom- 
panied by  Messrs.  Elliott  and 
Schischmaref,  and  a  chief  named 
John  Adams.  It  is  customary  with 
these  people  to  assume  the  names 
of  such  Europeans  with  whom  they 
have  contracted  a  friendship. 

The  view  of  the  king's  resi- 
dence was  intercepted  only  b}'  a 
narrow  promontory  composed  of 
naked  rocks,  on  doubling  which,  a 
most  enchanting  country  opened 
to  the  eye.  We  were  now  in  a 
small  sandy  bay,  protected  from 
the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  the  sur- 
face of  which  was  smooth  as  a  mir- 
ror: on  the  shore  there  was  a  pret- 
ty wood  of  palms,  in  the  shade  of 
which  stood  several  well-built  straw 
houses;  through  the  green  foliage 
of  the  bananas,  on  the  right,  ap- 
peared two  dazzling  white  habita- 
tions of  stone,  in  the  European 
fashion,  which  gave  the  place  the 
mingled  aspect  of  a  European  and 
an  Owhyhee  village,  that  produced 
a  singular  but  yet  highly  pleasing 
effect.  To  the  left,  on  an  ar- 
tificial mount  raised  close  to  the 
water,  was  the  morai  of  the  kincr, 
surrounded  by  large  wooden  sta- 
tues, which  exhibit  caricature  re- 
presentations of  human  figures, 
and  are  his  gods.  The  back-ground 
of  this  delicious  valley  is  formed 
by  the  lofty  and  majestic  mountain 
of  Mauna-Worraroy,  whose  height, 
according  tomy  calculation,  is  1697 
fathoms  (10,182  feet) :  on  this  side 
it  is  very  steep,  and  on  its  decli- 
vity, verdant  fields  and  dales  alter- 
nate with  beautiful  woods,  between 
which  are  not  unfrequently  per- 
ceived vast  overhanging  rocks  of 
lava,  which,  by  the  variation  of 
\\  illness    and    culture,    give    the 


348 


TAMEAMEA,   AND    HIS   COURT. 


whole  country  a  picturesque  ap- 
pearance. A  great  number  of 
islanders  armed  with  muskets  were 
posted  on  the  shore.  The  king, 
accompanied  by  some  of  his  prin- 
cipal officers,  came  to  the  landing- 
place  to  receive  us;  and  as  soon 
as  I  had  stepped  on  shore,  he  ad- 
vanced to  me,  and  shook  me  heart- 
ily by  the  hand.  Curiosity  as- 
sembled the  people  from  all  quar- 
ters, but  the  utmost  order  prevail- 
ed, and  neither  noise  nor  annoy- 
ance was  permitted.  Here  then 
was  I  in  the  presence  of  the  cele- 
brated Tameamea,  who  had  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  all  Europe, 
and  who,  by  the  dignity  and  yet 
unaffected  cordiality  of  his  de- 
meanour, inspired  me  with  the 
greatest  confidence.  He  conduct- 
ed me  into  his  straw  palace,  which, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the 
country,  consists  of  only  a  single 
spacious  apartment,  and,  like  all 
the  houses  here,  affords  a  free  pas- 
sage both  to  the  land  and  sea 
breeze,  whereby  the  oppressive 
heat  is  moderated.  We  were  of- 
fered neatchairs  of  European  work- 
manship; a  mahogany  table  was 
set  before  us;  and  thus  we  had  all 
the  furniture  of  the  palace  in  re- 
quisition. Though  the  king  has 
stone  houses  built  in  the  European 
style,  he  prefers  this  simple  habi- 
tation, that  he  may  not  violate  the 
custom  of  the  country:  whatever 
he  regards  as  useful  he  imitates, 
andendeavours  to  introduce  among 
his  people;  but  palaces  of  stone 
seem  to  him  to  be  superfluous, 
since  straw  houses  are  commodi- 
ous; and  it  is  his  object  to  increase 
the  prosperity,  not  the  wants,  of 
his  subjects. 

I    was   struck    by    Tameamea's 


dress,  which  consisted  of  a  white 
shirt,  blue  breeches,  a  red  waist- 
coat, and  a  black  handkerchief; 
for  my  imagination  had  drawn  a 
very  different  picture  of  his  royal 
paraphernalia.  We  were  told,  how- 
ever, that  he  sometimes  dresses 
splendidly,  since  his  wardrobe  con- 
tains several  embroidered  uniforms 
and  other  suits  of  apparel.  The 
grandees,  who  were  present  at  our 
interview,  and  had  all  taken  their 
seats  on  the  floor,  were  habited  in 
a  costume  still  more  singular  than 
the  king's,  for  the  black  frocks  on 
their  naked  bodies  make  a  most  lu- 
dicrous appearance;  besides  which, 
they  seldom  fit  them,  as  they  are 
obtained  by  barter  from  American 
vessels,  whose  people  seldom  at- 
tain the  stature  and  corpulence  of 
the  chiefs  of  the  Sandwich  Islands. 
One  of  the  ministers  had  a  coat 
with  a  waist  ridiculously  short,  and 
so  narrow  that  it  could  not  have 
been  buttoned  without  the  greatest 
difficulty;  he  perspired  copiously, 
and  was  evidently  miserable  in  his 
confinement,  but  fashion  forbade 
him  to  release  himself  from  its 
trammels.  It  is  extraordinary, 
that  the  savages  should  surpass  us 
Europeans  in  the  endurance  of  the 
inconveniences  to  which  they  are 
subjected  by  the  power  of  fashion. 
The  sentinels  at  the  door  were 
stark  naked  ;  a  cartouch-box  and 
a  pair  of  pistols  were  fastened 
about  their  bodies,  and  each  of 
them  had  a  gun  in  his  hand. 

After  the  king  had  given  us  some 
excellent  wine,  and  drunk  of  it  to 
our  health,  I  communicated  to 
him  my  intention  of  taking  in  fresh 
provisions,  water,  and  wood,  at  this 
place.  A  young  man  named  Cook, 
the  only  white  whom  the  king  had 


TAMRAtaF.A,   AND    HfS   COURT. 


;340 


about  him,    was    intelligent,    not 
without  polish,  and  spoke  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country  with   great 
fluciicj-:   he    had   formerly  served 
on   board  a   ship,  but  had  settled 
many   years    ago    in     this   island, 
where  he  enjoyed  the  king's  favour, 
and  possessed  a  considerabletractof  j 
land.     This  man  officiated  as  in- 
terpreter between  us.     Tameamea 
spoke  as  follows:  "  I  am  informed 
that  you  are  commander  of  a  ship 
of  war,  and  are  engaged  in  a  voy- 
age similar  to  that  of   Cook  and 
Vancouver,   consequently   do  not 
meddle  with  commerce ;  it  is  not 
therefore  my  intention  to  carry  on 
any  traffic  with  you,  but  to  supply 
you  gratuitously  with  whatever  my 
islands  produce.     There  then  is  an 
end  to  this  matter,  which  needs  no 
farther  mention  ;  but  now  I  request 
you   to   tell  me,  whether  it  is  the 
will  of  your  emperor  that  his  sub- 
jects should  begin  to  annoy  me  in 
my  old  age.      Since  Tameamea  has 
been  king  of  these  islands,  no  Eu- 
ropean   has  had  occasion  to  com- 
plain of  having  suffered  any  injury 
here.     I  have  made  my  islands  an 
asylum  for  all  nations,  and  every 
ship  that  wanted  provisions  I  have 
honestly    furnished    with     them. 
Some  time  since  there  came  from 
the  American  colony  of  Sitka  some 
Russians,  a  nation  with  which  I  had 
formerly  no  connection  :  they  were 
kindly  received  and  supplied  with 


some  months  ago,  pretended  that 
he  was  sent  by  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander to  make  botanical  researches 
on  my  islands.  Having  heard  many 
favourable  things  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander,  and  being  above  all  de- 
lighted with  his  bravt-rv,  I  not  only 
permitted  Mr.  Scheffer  to  bota- 
nize, but  promised  him  every  kind 
of  support,  gave  him  a  piece  of 
land  and  people,  so  that  he  could 
never  be  in  want  of  the  necessa- 
ries of  life;  in  short,  I  strove  to 
make  his  abode  here  as  agreeable 
as  possible,  and  to  comply  with  all 
his  wishes.  What  was  the  conse- 
quence of  my  hospitality1  While 
in  Owhyhee  he  repaid  my  kind- 
ness with  ingratitude,  which  I  bore 
patiently.  He  then  passed,  accord- 
ing to  his  wish,  from  island  to 
island,  and  at  length  settled  on  the 
fertile  island  of  Wahu,  where  he 
:  proved  himself  my  greatest  enemv, 
:  since  he  destroyed  our  sanctuary, 
the  morai  there  ;  and  in  the  island 
of  Otuwai,  excited  King  Tan 
who  had  many  years  before  submit- 
ted to  my  authority,  to  rebel 
against  me.  There  SchefFer  still 
resides  at  this  moment,  and  threat- 
ens my  islands." 

Such  was  the  account  cf  the  king, 
for  the  truth  of  which  I  have  no 
other  voucher  than  that  Tamea- 
mea gives  a  decided  preference  to 
such  of  the  Europeans  of  good 
conduct  as  settle  in  his  dominions, 


necessaries,  but  they  have  ill  re-  i;  and  is  universally  known  as  an  up- 
quited  me,  since  they  have  com-  H  light,  honourable  man.  I  am -not 
mitted  hostilities  against  my  sub-  |j  personally  acquainted  with  Mr. 
jects  in  the  island  of  Wahu,  and  ;i  ScherFer,  but  have  subsequently 
threatened  to  brins:  ships  of  war  to  |  learned  in  what  manner  he  came 
conquer  the  islands:  however,  that  jj  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  He 
shall  not  happen  so  long  as  Tame-  'I  engaged  as  surgeon  to  the  Ilusso- 
amea  lives.  A  Russian  physician,  i  American  Company's  ship  the  8u- 
named  Scheffer,  who  came  hither  !  warof,  which  sailed  in  13  U,  under 


350 


TAME  AMI:  A,   AND    HIS    COURT. 


the  command  of  Lieutenant  Lafa- 
ref,  from  Cronstadt  for  Sitka.  La- 
faref,  for  reasons  with  which  I  am 
not  acquainted,  left  Dr.  Scheffer 
at  Sitka  in  1815,  and  returned  to 
Europe  without  any  surgeon.  Mr. 
Baranof,  who  usually  resides  at 
Sitka  in  quality  of  director  of  all 
the  Russo-American  colonies,  and 
whose  character  is  none  of  the  best, 
took  him  under  his  patronage,  and 
sent  him  to  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
for  what  purpose  is  not  known; 
but  how  he  conducted  himself 
there,  the  reader  is  informed. 

I  solemnly  assured  Tameamea 
that  the  misconduct  of  the  Russi- 
ans here  was  by  no  means  to  be  at- 
tributed to  the  orders  of  our  em- 
peror, who  never,  commanded  his 
subjects  to  do  what  was  wrong; 
but  that  the  great  extent  of  his 
empire  prevented  his  being  imme- 
diately apprised  of  their  bad  ac- 
tions ;  which,  however,  did  not  pass 
unpunished  when  they  reached 
his  ears.  My  declaration  that  the 
emperor  had  no  design  to  conquer 
his  islands  rejoiced  the  king  ex- 
ceedingly ;  the  glasses  were  imme- 
diately emptied  to  the  emperor's 
health ;  he  became  more  affable 
than  before,  and  I  could  not  have 
wished  for  a  more  agreeable  and  at- 
tentive host.  He  led  the  conver- 
sation with  a  vivacity  that  was  as- 
tonishing for  his  age,  asked  num- 
berless questions  concerning  Rus- 
sia, and  made  observations  which 
Cook  was  not  always  able  to  trans- 
late, many  of  his  expressions  be- 
ing peculiar  to  the  language  of 
Owhyhee,  and  so  witt}^,  that  his 
ministers  frequently  burst  into  loud 
laughter. 

One  of  Tameamea' s  wives  walk- 
ed  past  the  house,  and    politely 


wished  me  good  day  at  the  door, 
but  durst  not  enter,  as  this  was  the 
place  where  the  king  ate.     With 
his  permission  we  took  a  walk,  ac- 
companied by  Cook,  and  five  nak- 
ed soldiers  escorted  us  as  a  guard 
of  honour.     We  visited  the  favour- 
ite Queen  Kahumanna,  who  is  men- 
tioned  by  Vancouver,  and  found 
with  her  the  two  other  wives,  and 
were  received   by   them   all   with 
great    kindness.      The    house    in 
which  Kahumanna  resides  is  neat- 
ly built,  and  very  clean   within  ; 
the  floor,  on  which  the  three  la- 
dies seated  themselves  in  the  Asi- 
atic manner,  was  covered  with  fine 
mats  of  elegant  workmanship,  and 
their  persons-were  enveloped  in  the 
finest  stuffs  of  the  country.     Ka- 
humanna satin  the  middle  between 
the  other  two,  and  I  received  the 
flattering  invitation    to  place  my- 
self on  the  floor  opposite  to  them. 
They    asked    several     inquisitive 
questions,  which    I    answered,    to 
their  satisfaction,  through  the  me- 
dium    of    Cook.     Water-melons 
were  brought,  and  Kahumanna  had 
the  politeness  to  cut  one  and  hand 
me  a  slice  herself.     The  chief  em- 
ployment of  the  royal  dames  con- 
sists in  smoking  tobacco,  combing 
their  hair,  driving  flies  away  with 
a  fan,  and  eating.     Tameamea  is 
the  only  exception  to  the  practice 
of  smokinar,  which  has  within  these 
few  years  become  so  prevalent  in 
the  Sandwich   Islands,  that  little 
children   smoke   before   they  can 
run  alone,  and  adults   carry  it  to 
such  excess  that  they   drop  down 
insensible,  and  frequently  die  in 
consequence  of  it. 

The  tobacco-plant,  which  was 
brought  hither  by  Europeans,  is 
cultivated  with  care,  and  has  be- 


tami  .\m::.\,  and  ms  CO! 


come  naturalized;  the  smell  i 
ry  pleasant,  but  the  tobacco  is  ex- 
trcmelv  strong.  They  use  no  tubes 
to  their  pipes,  but  the  bowls,  which, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the 
country,  they  have  constantly  hang- 
ing by  their  sides,  form  part  of  the 
royal  insignia:  these  are  of  the 
size  of  the  largest  amber  bowls; 
they  are  made  of  a  dark-coloured 
wood,  and  hooped  with  copper; 
but  this  the  wealthy  only  can  af- 
ford. Kahumanna  took  with  great 
zest  a  few  whiffs  from  the  pipe, 
swallowed  part  of  the  smoke,  and 
expelled  the  remainder  through 
the  nostrils :  half  stupified,  she 
handed  me  the  pipe,  and  when  I 
declined  it,  she  gave  it,  amazed 
at  my  European  stupidity,  to  her 
neighbour,  who  soon  resigned  it 
to  the  third.  As  soon  as  the  pipe 
was  emptied  in  this  manner,  it  was 
filled  afresh,  and  passed  round  as 
before.  The  second  occupation 
of  these  ladies  is  the  dressing  of 
their  hair,  which,  according  to  the 
fashion,  is  cut  short,  except  that 
it  is  suffered  to  grow  to  the  length 
of  about  two  inches  over  the  fore- 
head;  they  smear  it  with  a  white 
viscous  matter,  and  comb  it  up: 
the  snow-white  rays  which  then  en- 
circle the  dark  brown  face  give  it 
a  romantic  appearance.  All  three 
queens  were  very  large,  corpulent 
women,  upwards  of  fifty,  and  had 
probably  never  possessed  anyclaims 
to  beauty.  Their  dress  was  dis- 
tinguished by  several  silk  hand- 
kerchiefs from  that  of  the  other 
females.  The  king's  daughter,  a 
tolerably  handsome  girl,  was  seat- 
ed on  a  mat  before  the  door;  be- 
hind her  stood  a  little  negro  boy, 
who  held  a  silk  parasol  over  her 
head,  to  screen  her  from  the  sun, 
Vol.  X.  No.  LX. 


while  two  other  boys  drove  a 
the  tlies  with  bunches  of  red  fea- 
thers: the  whole  formed  a  pleasi 
group.  When  I  was  about  to  rise, 
Kahumanna  detained  me,  and  in- 
quired with  great  earnestness  after 
Vancouver,  who  it  seems,  during 
his  stay  here,  had  reconciled  her 
with  Tameamea,  with  whom  ho 
had  found  her  at  variance.  The 
intelligence  of  his  death  seemed 
to  affect  her. 

On  leaving  the  king's  wives,  we 
paid  a  visit  to  his  son.     Cook  told 
me  that  this  prince,  as  heir  appa- 
rent to  the  throne,  was  already 
vested  with  the  rights  of  his  father, 
which  consist  in  the  observance  of 
the  most  important  taboos*.      - 
arrangement  has  been  adopted  by 
Tameamea  from  political  motives, 
to  prevent  the  occurrence  of  a  re- 
volution after  his  death;  for  as  soon 
as   the  son  has   consummated  the 
most  important  royal  luhoo,  he  is 
sacred,    and    becomes     associated 
with  the  priests,  and  no  one  i 
dispute  with  him  the  possess: 
the  throne.     When  the  prine 
quired   the  same  rights  as  his  fa- 
ther, he  received  the  name  of 
Lio,  that  is,  dag  of  all  dogs — 
such  we  actually  found  him  to  be. 
We  were  ushered  into  a  neat  h 
in  which  Lio-Lio,  a  tall,  clumsy, 
naked   figure,  lay  stretched    u 
his    belly;    at    our    entrance, 
slowly  raised  his  head  to  look  at 
his  visitors.     Near  him  were  seated 
some  nake^i  soldiers  with  fire-: 
to  guard  this  Caliban.     A  yc 
and     handsome    native    of    these 

*  The    first    taboo   of  the    k 

ts  in  ihiSj  that  n<>  pel  I  .wed 

to   *ee   him    by  ipold  any 

one  be  so  unfortunate,  his  life    . 
the  forfeit  of  i. 
. 


352 


TAMEAMEA,   AND    HIS    COURT. 


islands  drove  away  the  flies  from 
him  with  a  bunch  of  red  feathers, 
and  I  should  rather  have  taken  this 
youth  for  the  offspring  of  royalty, 
on  account  of  his  interesting  phy- 
siognomy and  dignified  demean- 
our. Tamcamea,  whose  wise  go- 
vernment will  cause  his  name  to 
be  handed  down  to  posterity,  and 
who  has  laid  the  ground-work  for 
the  civilization  of  his  people,  ought 
to  have  a  successor,  who  would  pro- 
secute with  zeal  and  intelligence 
the  work  which  he  has  begun.  For 
the  benefit  of  navigation,  it  were 
desirable  that  the  natives  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands  should  attain  as 
high  a  degree  of  culture  as  the 
Europeans;  and  the  English,  who 
have  taken  these  islands  under 
their  protection,  ought  to  influ- 
ence the  elevation  of  some  man  of 
talent  to  the  vacant  throne  after 
the  decease  of  Tameamea,  and 
then  every  revolution  would  be 
obviated.  At  length,  the  dog  of 
all  dogs  listlessly  raised  himself, 
and  gazed  at  us  with  a  stupid,  va- 
cant stare.  He  seemed  pleased 
with  my  laceduniform,  for  he  spoke 
at  considerable  length  concerning 
it  with  two  naked  chamberlains.  I 
could  not  learn  his  exact  age,  of 
which  no  account  is  kept  here;  I 
should  estimate  it  at  twenty- two, 
and  am  inclined  to  believe  that  his 
prodigious  corpulence  proceeds 
from  his  habitual  lying  position. 

At  noon  we  returned  to  Tame- 
amea\s  habitation,  where  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see,  close  to  the  shore, 
barges  sixty  or  seventy  feet  long, 
built  exactly  in  the  European  man- 
ner; they  are  employed  in  the  con- 
veyance of  provisions  from  one- 
island  to  another.  Tameamea  is 
solicitous  to  draw  European  ship- 


:  builders  to  his  country,  and  pays 
liberally  for  their  instruction.  Dur- 
ing our  walk,  we  were  constantly- 
surrounded  by  a  concourse  of  per- 
sons of  both  sexes,  who  made  a 
great  deal  of  noise  and  fun,  but 
without  being  troublesome.  Tame- 
amea acrain  received  us  in  a  friend- 
ly  manner,  and,  after  some  ques- 
tions as  to  how  I  liked  the  place, 
he  ordered  wine  to  be  brought,  and 
conducted  us  into  a  small  neat 
house  by  the  side  of  the  moral, 
where  the  table  was  already  laid 
in  the  European  manner.  He  al- 
leged that  pork  durst  not  be  eaten 
in  the  house  where  we  had  been 
before;  but  Cook,  who  had  tho- 

j  roughly  studied  the  king,  gave  me 
a  different  explanation  of  the  mat- 
ter; and  was  of  opinion  that  the 
king  had  chosen  the  house  near 
the  moral,  where  he  commonly 
holds  his  sacrificial  feasts,  for  us 
to  dine  in,  because  he  designed  to 
offer  the  hog,  baked  for  our  enter- 
tainment, to  his  gods,  out  of  gru- 
titude  for  his  reconciliation  with 
the  Russians.  The  women  are  for- 
bidden, upon  pain  of  death,  to  be 
present  at  the  repasts  of  men  ;  for 
which  reason  each  family  has  two 
houses,  besides  that  in  which  it 
usually  resides,  the  one  for  the 
men  to  eat  in,  and  the  other  for 
the  women.  The  dinner  was  pro- 
vided for  us  alone;  the  king  and 
hisministerstakingnothing,thou;j,h 
they  were  present,  because,  as  he 
said,  hog's  flesh  was  to-day  taboo 
(forbidden)  for  him.  The  hog, 
placed  upon  palm-branches  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  was  cut  up 
with  various  ceremonies  by  one  of 

|  the  ministers,  and  accompanied 
with  sweet  potatoes,  yams,  and 
baked   taro-roots.     The  kinsr  was 


tamk.uj  :•:.'.,  AM)   HIS   COURT. 


353 


chatty  during  the  repast;  i|  serving,  "These  are  our  gods, 
.sometimes  conversing  with  o&e, and  i  whom  I  adore:  whether  I  am  right 
at  others  turning  to  lus  ministers,  or  wrong  in  so  doing,  I  know  not; 
who  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  but  I  follow  the  dictates  of  my 
his  sallies.  He  is  fond  of  wine,  faith,  which  cannot  be  a  had  one, 
without  drinking  to  excess,  and  since  it  commands  me  to  do  no 
was  very  attentive  to  fill  our  glass-  wrong."  This  remark  from  a  savage, 
es.     When  he  had,  after  the  J        -  .  by  innate  energy,  raised 

lish  fashion,  drunk  to  the  health  himself  to  this  degree  of  culture, 
of  each  of  his  guests,  he  challen-  displays  sound  reason,  and  made  a 
ged  us  to  fill  a  bumper  to  the  pro-  profound  impression  upon  me. 
.sperity  of  our  emperor;  and  when  When  the  king  is  at  the  moral,  no 
we  had  done  this,  one  of  his  mi-  ,  person  is  allowed  to  enter,  and  we 
nisters  delivered  to  me  a  ruff  or  meanwhile  examined  the  colossal 
collar,  made  with  great  skill  of  idols  carved  out  of  wood,  which 
variegated  feathers,  which  the  king  '.]  represent  the  most  hideous  carica- 
had  himself  worn  on  solemn  days;  ,  tures.  Tameamea  presently  re- 
fur  example,  in  time  of  war.  Fie  joined  us,  and  conducted  us  to  the 
then  accosted  me  through  the  me-  i  house  in  which  he  had  first  receiv- 


diuni  of  Cook,  though  he  speaks 
English  tolerably  well,  and  said, 
':  I  have  heard  that  your  monarch 
is  a  great  warrior;  I  love  him  for 
it,  because  I  am  so  myself,  and 
send  him  this  collar  as  a  token  of 
my  affection." 

After  we  had  dined,  and  quitted 
the  house,  the  king  was  extremely 
anxious  that  my  boat's  crew  also 
should  be  well  regaled.  He  gave 
directionsaccordingly  to  one  of  the 
chiefs,  and  the  table  was  immedi- 
ately covered  afresh;  the  men  were 
then  made  to  sit  down,  and  treated 
with  as  much  attention  as  had  been  j 
paid  to  ourselves.  The  fellows  had  j 
to  a  certainty  never  been  made  so 


ed  us,  where  we  sat  down  as  before 
in  chairs,  while  the  grandees  took 
their  places  on  the  floor. 

The  time  for  Tameamea' s  accus- 
tomed repast  now  arrived.  He 
excused  himself  for  being  about 
to  eat  in  cur  presence,  saying,  "I 
have  seen  how  the  Russians  eat ;  I 
will  nowgratify  your  curiosity, and 
shew  you  how  Tameamea  eats." 
The  table  was  not  covered,  but  the 
provisions  lay  in  a  distant  corner 
on  banana  leaves,  which  served  in- 
stead of  dishes.  Special  attend- 
ants carried  them  creeping  towards 
the  king,  where  one  of  his  great 
officers  received  and  placed  them 
on  the  table.    The  reoast  consisted 


much  of  in  all  their  lives;  for  a  i  of  boiled  fish,  yams,  taro-roots,  and 
canaka  stood  behind  each  of  them,  i!  a  roasted  bird,  very  little  larger 
as  behind  us,  during  dinner,  with  a  |[  than   a   sparrow,  which   frequents 


bunch  of  feathers,  to  protect  him 
from  the  flies. 

Tameamea's  first  walk  was  to  the 
morai:  here  he  embraced  a  statue, 
which  was  hung  round  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  fruit,  and  pieces  of  a  sa- 
crificed hog;  at  the  same  time  ob- 


the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  is  very 
rarely  eaten,  and  that  only  at  the 
table  of  the  king.  He  ate  very  fast, 
and  apparently  with  an  excellent 
appetite,  at  the  same  time  talking 
incessantly.  Instead  of  bread  he 
uses  taro-dough,  diluted  with  water 
3  A  2 


55A 


THK    FEMALE    TATTLF.lt. 


to  the  consistence  of  a  soft  pap, 
which,  though  the  king  possesses 
beautiful  services  of  table  utensils, 
stands  in  a  calabash  at  his  right 
hand  ;  into  this  he  dips  his  fore- 
finger when  he  eats  fish  or  flesh, 
and  pitches  a  good  portion  of  it 
with  great  dexterity  into  his  mouth. 
This  unsightl}'  mode  of  eating  is 


practised  by  all  from  the  sovereign 
down  to  the  meanest  of  his  people. 
Tameatnea,  who  used  nothing  but 
his  fingers  during  the  whole  re- 
past, and  observed  that  I  was  at- 
tentive to  his  motions,  said  to  me, 
"  Such  is  the  custom  in  my  coun- 
try, and  I  will  not  deviate  from  it.'' 



THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  LX. 


Then,  like  the  Sihyl's  reaves, 
O  scatter  them  abroad  ! 


-DilYDEN. 


As  I  have  given  notice  that  this 
collection  of  maxims,  applicable 
as  the}-  are  to  every  situation  of  fe- 
male character,  are  on  the  point 
of  being  concluded,  I  have  receiv- 
ed various  hints  as  to  the  better 
arrangement  of  them.  To  those 
who  are  of  that  opinion,  I  shall 
beg  leave  to  recommend,  if  thev 
are  advanced  in  life,  to  undertake 
the  task  for  the  benefit  of  others ; 
if  they  are  young,  to  do  it  for 
their  own. 

F T . 


If  you  should  be  conscious  you 
have  well  acquitted  yourself  in  the 
world  whilst  you  were  connected 
with  it,  your  retirement  will  be  dou- 
bly pleasant. 

A  degree  of  knowledge  in  <?-ar- 
dening  and  fanning,  with  due  at- 
tention to  economy,  will  save  you 
from  weariness  of  mind,  and  pre- 
serve your  health  of  body. 

Let  no  servile  imitations  of  fa- 
shions in  the  world  corrupt  the 
modes  of  a  country  life,  and  sub- 
vert its  end,  which  should  be  that 
of  preparation  for  another. 

itather  prefer  some  hours  of  so- 
litude, to  the  passing  them  with  a 


set  of  people  who  would  either 
despise  your  regularity,  or,  by- 
forcing  you  out  of  it,  destroy  your 
happiness. 

Keep  up  your  politeness  and 
your  neatness,  and  contract  no  for- 
mality ;  but  pursue  the  rules  you 
have  laid  down  with  firmness,  but 
without  affectation. 

Receive  your  inferior  neigh- 
bours with  good-humour  and  com- 
placency, nor  sicken  at  conversa- 
tion which  that  situation  must  fur- 
nish. 

An  unpolished  expression, or  an 
unfashionable  dress,  should  never 
excite  your  anger  or  contempt, 
provided  the  hearts  of  3-our  socie- 
ty are  untainted. 

Put  yourself  as  much  as  you  can 
on  a  level  with  your  neighbours, 
nor  draw  the  younger  part,  whose 
fortunes  will  not  admit  of  it,  into 
frivolous  expenses  and  idle  imita- 
tion of  changeable  fashions. 
Do  not  continuallyquote  the  mag- 
nificence of  earlier  days,  nor  those 
pleasures  which  it  is  impossible 
to  share  in  your  present  situation. 

Consider  that  your  judgment  of 
persons  and  their  qualities  may 
be  somewhat   influenced    by   age, 


THF.   FHMALE   TATTLKR. 


355 


sickness,  or  disappointment:  im- 
perfection did,  and  will,  exist  as 
long  as  this  imperfect  world  shall 
last. 

Your  society  will  respect  you 
more  for  your  propriety  of  con- 
duct, after  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
fortune  you  may  have  experienced, 
than  for  the  vain  descriptions  of 
beauty  or  of  grandeur  that  are 
past. 

Listen  to  the  distresses,  attend 
to  the  maladies  of  the  poor;  and 
endeavour  to  mitigate  the  one,  and 
to  heal  the  other. 

Notonly  administer  to  the  health 
of  poor  people,  but  encourage 
their  industry. 

Superintend  the  instruction  of 
the  poorer  sort,  but  intermix  no- 
thing that  would  encourage  vanity 
in  your  support  of  them. 

Encourage  reading  among  the 
younger  poor,  no  farther  than  as  it 
shall  inform  them  of  their  duty  to 
God  and  man. 

A  very  few  precepts,  and  much 
good  example,  to  persons  without 
education,  are  the  surest  methods 
of  encouragingvirtue  among  them. 

Let  your  pecuniary  aids  be  dis- 
tributed with  discretion. 

In  the  payment  of  labour,  con- 
sider the  limits  of  others'  fortune, 
should  your  own  be  superior. 

Let  none  share  your  bounty 
whose  conduct  and  character  do 
not  merit  it;  b,ut  abandon  them 
not  while  you  can  hope  for  their 
reformation. 

There  is  a  pious  kind  of  anger 
that  sometimes  so  blends  itself  with 
female  charity,  as  to  be  a  check  to 
gratitude  even  in  the  acceptance 
of  gifts. 

Experience  in  the  use  of  drugs 
may  contribute  much  to  the  safety 


of  poor  objects;  above  all,  those 
who  have  slight  indispositions:  but 
a  smattering  in  physic  is  rather  a 
dangerous  tool  in  female  hands. 

Apply  to  the  mind,  as  well  as  to 
the  body,  of  such  indigent  persons 
as  shall  implore  your  assistance; 
examine  into  the  causes  of  their 
unhappy  state:  a  small  donation 
and  a  kind  expression  will  save  ma- 
ny a  sufferer  from  sickness  and  de- 
spair. 

Let  each  year  which  shall  steal 
a  charm  or  a  grace  which  were  the 
companions  of  your  youth,  add  a 
virtue  in  return. 

The  decay  of  beauty  is  perhaps 
i  one  of  the  most  sensible  trials  that 
i  female  temper  can  experience;  en- 
deavour  therefore   to  prevent  its 
consequences,    by    turning    your 
thoughts  to  mental  acquirements. 

Substitute  extreme  neatness  to 
ornament  in  advanced  age,  as  well 
as  gentleness  to  vivacity,  and  hu- 
mility to  vanity. 

The  beauties  of  nature,  a  health- 
ful walk,  a  rising  and  setting  sun, 
the  prosperity  and  perfections  of 
your  descendants,  will  amply  re- 
place in  your  mind  the  pleasures 
and  pursuits  of  your  younger  years, 
too  oft  checked  by  misfortune,  and 
destroyed  by  disappointments. 

Let  those  hands,  once,  perhaps, 
too  much  occupied  in  arranging 
and  placing  personal  ornament, 
busy  themselves  in  forming  rai- 
ment for  the  poor  ;  and  the  most 
consolatory  reflections  will  attend 
your  labours. 

Encourage  every  innocent  amuse- 
ment among  those  yet  capable  of 
tasting  them  ;  exclude  not  music 
or  the  dance  from  your  society, 
particularly  in  the  country. 

Be  sparing  of  your  reflections 


35b 


THF    F  KM  ALE    TATTLJ.K. 


in  youthful  societies  :  they  are  of- 
ten misinterpreted,  and  ascribed 
to  regret  and  envy. 

When  ready  to  censure  the  pre- 
sent day,call  over  your  own  conduct 
in  a  former  one,  and  candidly  ex- 
amine your  title  to  decisive  con- 
demnation of  trifling  indiscretion. 

Persuasion  will  hang  on  the 
voice  of  good-nature  and  benevo- 
lence ;  and  employ  no  other  means 
to  influence  and  lead  young  per- 
sons to  prudence  and  virtue. 

Render  yourself  the  confidant, 
and  not  the  tyrant  of  your  ac- 
quaintance: they  will  fly  from  se- 
verity, while  humanity  will  attract 
them. 

If  anywise  entitled  to  counsel, 
or  to  correct,  make  use  of  some 
recent  and  forcible  example,  which 
is  the  production  of  almost  every 
day. 

Be  not  arbitrary  on  the  point  of 
dress  among  your  female  society  : 
it  suffices  for  you  to  observe  a 
proper  decorum  yourself  in  that 
article. 

Lament  not  the  desertion  of  cer- 
tain persons  whose  friendship  and 
opinion  you  once  relied  on  :  you 
are  better  without  them,  if  their 
former  attentions  were  derived 
from  your  opulence  or  connections. 

That  too  common  and  illiberal 
behaviour,  among  the  young  and 
unthinking,  towards  the  old  and 
unhappy,  which,  in  large  compa- 
nies, it  may  be  your  lotto  encoun- 
ter, is  only  to  be  avoided  by  con- 
tracting the  circle  of  your  ac- 
quaintance; and  surely  that  can- 
not be  deemed  a  hardship  by  good 
sense  and  experience. 

Do  not  shun  the  afflicted:  there 
are  dispositions  in  the  world,  who, 
looking  on  sorrow  as  contagious, 
become  inhuman  through  fear. 


Listen  to  tales  of  woe  with 
promptitude  on  your  own  account, 
and  compassion  for  the  sufferers. 

Profit  by  others'  misfortunes  or 
mistakes  as  a  correction  to  your 
pride,- and  a  guard  to  your  own 
conduct. 

Abstain  from  all  uncharitable 
comments  on  the  reports  of  the 
misconduct  of  the  world  :  be  grate- 
ful to  that  Providence  which  hath 
conducted  you  into  the  harbour, 
and  lament  the  storms  your  fellow- 
creatures  are  exposed  to. 

Endeavour  to  put  a  favourable 
interpretation  on  all  uncertain  ru- 
mours, when  to  the  disadvantage 
of  contemporaries.  It  appertains 
solely,  amid  the  uncertainties  of 
time,  to  Omniscience  to  discover, 
and  Omnipotence  to  judge. 

Use  your  strongest  efforts  to  de- 
tach yourself  from,  and,  in  a  cer- 
tain degree,  to  abate  in  your  af- 
fections towards,  all  perishable 
objects. 

Vanity,  in  declining  years,  is 
often  substituted  to  tenderer  pas- 
sions :  support  of  family  and  the 
pride  of  name  are  shadows  that 
will  dissolve  and  vanish  like  your- 
self. 

When  real  affection  reigns,  no 
mode  of  reasoning  will  be  more 
prevailing  for  consolation  than  this: 
that  the  object  of  it  is  doomed  to 
submit  to  the  general  laws  of  God 
and  nature. 

To  young  persons,  the  death  of 
contemporaries  is  the  most  speak- 
ing lesson  they  can  receive. 

If  you  lose  your  companions 
late  in  life,  if  they  shall  have 
merited  the  esteem  of  the  good, 
pursue  their  paths  in  order  to  re- 
join them. 

During  such  afflictions  as  are 
confined  to  yourself,  seek  not  re- 


MUSICAL    Hr.VlEW. 


357 


lief  from  the  dissipated  and  un- 
feeling world;  nor,  till  you  can 
controul  your  sorrows, expose  them 
to  insensibility,  if  not  derision. 

The  most  probable  diversion  to 
acute  affliction  will  be  your  ex- 
ertions in  the  service  of  your  fel- 
low-creatures. 

Suffer  no  peevishness  to  inter- 
mix itself  with  trouble:  it  is  a  spe- 
cies of  revolt  against  the  decrees 
of  Providence. 

Betray  no  kind  of  impatience 
at  the  awkward  efforts  of  unskilful 


acquaintance  in  the  article  of  con- 
solation. 

You  may  sometimes  meet  among 
indifferent  spectators  of  misfor- 
tunes a  certain  hard  and  prying 
look,  which  seems  to  seek  for  such 
causes  of  it  as  may  save  their  com- 
passion and  authorizetheircensure. 

The  only  disappointment  you 
can  iuflicton  impertinent  curiosity, 
is  the  concealment  of  your  sensa- 
tions. 

Mention  death  neither  with  hor- 
ror nor  contempt.  F —  T — . 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Three  Italian  Arietts,  with 
an  Accompaniment  fur  the  Piano- 
forte, composed,   and   respectfully 
dedicated  to  Mrs.  Leshmere  Rus- 
sell, by  F.  Sor.    6th  Set.     Pr.  5s. 
(Chappell  and  Co.  Bond-street.) 
Once  more,  after  a  long  inter- 
val of  silence,  we  have  the  plea- 
sure of  introducing  to  our  readers 
a  fresh   production    of — their  fa- 
vourite we  hope — Mr.  Sor;  a  fur- 
ther set  of  his  arietts,  the  sixth  in 
succession.     Our  account  of  this 
production    will    demand    all    the 
space  at  our  utmost  command  :  we 
therefore  proceed  forthwith  to  our 
purpose. 

1st  ARIETT. 

The  first  ariett  is  in  the  key  of 
A  major,  £;  we  subjoin  the  text, 
to  render  our  remarks  more  intel- 
ligible : 

Pace,  Amarille ! 
Torniamo  in  pace ; 
L'aspre  pupille 
Serena  al  fin. 
Serena,  o  torbida, 
Qual  piu  ti  piaccia, 
Sempre  sei  l'arbitra 
Del  mic-  destin. 

Literally  and  lineally  about  thus  : 


Peace,  Amaryllis!  to  peace  let  us 
return;  those  chilling  frowns  for 
once  dispel.  Smiling  or  frowning,  as 
best  suits  thy  will,  thou 'It  ever  be  the 
umpire  of  my  destiny. 

The  emphatic  exclamation,"  Pa- 
ce, Amarille,"  would  have  render- 
ed an  extended,  formal  introduc- 
tion greatly  out  of  place;  Mr.  S. 
therefore,  with  his  usual  discrimi- 
nation, confines  his  symphony  to 
two  bars,  the  peculiar  and  original 
construction  of  which  already  im- 
plies the  lover's  anxious  entreaties 
(C  6,D3)*  :  after  this  short  prepara- 
tion, the  words,  "  Pace,  Amarille," 
are  ushered  in  with  E  7,  A3.  The 
exclamation  is  uttered  with  fervour, 
yet  in  tenderness,  and  after  re- 
peating the  short  symphony,  near- 
ly the  same  phrase  serves  to  ex- 
press "  Torniamo  in  pace."  Thus 
far,  however,  no  regular  motivo 
appears;  these  two  first  lines  are  in 

*  The  signature  being  A  (3  sharps),  it 
may  be  proper  to  state,  once  for  all, 
that,  in  our  mention  of  these  and  other 
chords,  t lis  sharps  in  the  key  are  omitted; 
thev  must  be  understood  throughout. 


358 


MUSICAL    KM  VIEW. 


a  kind  of  mezzo  recitativo.  Now 
only  begins,  in  fact,  the  main  sub- 
ject with  "  L'aspre  pupille,"  &c. 
This  arrangement  is  excellent,  not 
only  as  conveying  forcibly  the  im- 
port of  the  words,  but  also  because 
it  produces  a  sweet  contrast  of  re- 
citation and  arioso.  With  the 
fourth  line  of  the  text  the  first  sub- 
ject in  the  tonic  concludes,  and  a 
new  period  begins,  with  the  fifth 
line,  in  the  dominant  E:  here  we 
observe  the  adequate  effect  of  the 
chord  of  the  second  at  "  torbida." 
The  5th  and  6th  lines  are  repeated 
(p.  2, 1.  1,)  by  a  further  modulation 
into  a  new  dominant,  B,  on  which 
a  cadence  ensues  (b.  4.)*.  This  ca- 
dence on  "  piaccia"  we  deem  too 
conclusive  for  the  sentence  "Qual 
piu  ti  piaccia,"  which  in  fact  is 
but  parenthetical.  But  here  the 
melody  comes  to  a  full  stop,  and  a 
fresh  idea,  upon  a  change  of  key 
(E),  is  formally  entered  upon  at  the 
words  "  Sempre  sei  l'arbitra," 
which  essentially  belong  to  "  Se- 
rena, o  torbida." 

The  stanza  concludes  on  the 
dominant  (p.  2,  1.  3),  and  its  repe- 
tition from  the  beginning  takes 
place.  The  two  first  lines,  "Pace," 
&c.  are  again  beautifully  express- 
ed, in  a  varied  form,  with  a  tinge 
of  minore,  and  with  a  musical  cli- 
max of  pathos  quite  masterly.  The 
main  motive  of  the  3d  and  4th 
lines  (text)  reappears  with  tasteful 
amplification.     To  the  5th  and  6th 

*  In  this  line,  and  on  some  other  oc- 
casions, we  observe  accidental  sharps 
omitted  in  the  voice,  when  they  are  giv- 
en in  the  accompaniment;  and  vice  versa. 
This  may  lead  to  mistakes,  particularly 
in  prima  vista  performances.  The  acci- 
dentals had  better  be  repeated  in  both 
parts. 


lines  (text)— p.  3,  1.  2  —  however 
fancifully  decorated  by  a  most  de- 
licate instrumental  interlude,  we 
feel  the  same  objection  in  regard 
to  cadence,as  in  the  instance  above 
referred  to;  nay,  more  strongly,  by 
reason  of  the  addition  of  the  pause, 
which  renders  the  conclusion  abso- 
lute. This  pause  indeed  begins  to 
stagger  us.  When  we  consider 
how  every  bar  of  Mr.  S.  bespeaks 
reflection  well  weighed,  we  mus-t 
either  fear  we  have  misconceived 
the  text,  or  think  he  has  intention- 
ally given  it  a  bearing  different 
from  its  more  obvious  meaning. 
The  remainder  of  the  page  dwells 
upon  the  original  motivo,  and  de- 
duces from  it,  under  various  ele- 
gant figures,  an  animated  and  well- 
developed  termination.  Of  this 
ariett  it  is  perhaps  scarcely  neces- 
sary, after  what  has  been  stated,  to 
add  a  general  opinion  ;  suffice  it 
to  say,  that  it  is  a  highly  finished 
piece  of  musical  writing,  replete 
with  touches  of  feeling,  richly  co- 
loured as  to  accompaniment,  and, 
with  the  before-mentioned  excep- 
tion— founded  in  mistake  perhaps 
on  our  part — a  perfect  tableau  var- 
iant. 

2d  ARIETT. 
Lagrime  inie  d'arTanno, 
Sospiri  del  mio  cor, 
All'  idol'  iniotirahno 
Spicgate  il  mio  dolor. 
Mi  clie  mi  giova  il  pianto, 
Che  giova  sospivar, 
Se  la  crudel'  intauto 
Ride  del  mio  penar? 

Line  for  line,  nearly  as  follows:  Ye 
tears  of  anguish,  ye  sigh?  of  my  heart, 
to  my  cruel  idol  depict  my  woes !  But 
what  can  tears  avail  me  V  zchat  avails 
sighing,  if  the  pitiless  maid  laughs 
at  my  sufferings? 

These  wailings  of  a  despairing 
lover  demanded,  what  they  receiv- 


MUSICAL   RKVIKW. 


359 


ed  in  full  measure  at  Mr.  Sor's 
hands,  a  melody  expressive  of  deep 
melancholy.  The  key  is  G  minor 
accordingly ;  but  the  ariett  is  much 
shorter  than  the  first,  perhaps  for 
this  strong  reason,  that  our  ear  is 
fatigued  with  extensive  minore 
strains,  especially  when  unrelieved 
by  intervening  major  parts,  and, 
generally,  because  the  mind  dis- 
likes to  dwell  long  upon  a  tale  of 
woe,  more  particularly  when  sung. 
The  prelude  is  finely  imagined  ; 
in  the  latter  part  we  fancy  we  hear 
the  lover's  sobs  and  broken  sighs. 
The  four  first  lines  of  text  proceed 
with  measured  regularity  in  the 
minor  tonic,  with  a  transient  mo- 
dulation across  the  relative  major 
key.  Lines  5  and  6  (t)  are  render- 
ed with  great  truth  and  deep  feel- 
ing: it  is  impossible  to  melodize 
declamation  more  correctly,  and  it 
is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  clas- 
sic and  impressive  accompaniment 
than  what  supports  this  phrase 
(p.  5,  1.  2).  But  the  sentiment  aug- 
ments in  force  with  the  two  last 
lines,  "  Se  la  crudel'  intanto,"  &.c. ; 
the  despairing  swain  reproaches 
his  love  with  her  wanton  cruelty, 
and  his  wild  distress  is  well  depict- 
ed by  chords  from  the  diminished 
seventh,  &c.  thrown  into  rapid  ar- 
peggios. Theconcludingsympho- 
ny,  interesting  and  highly  wrought 
in  itself,  harmonizes  finely  with  the 
general  tenor  of  the  vocal  part. 

3d  ariett.- 

Io  mormoro  in  vano 
De'  lacci  d'ainor, 
Sara  mio  sovrano 
Malgrado  il  mio  cor: 
Armato  di  strali, 
E  pronto  a  ferir  j 
Ha  celeri  ali, 
Se  tento  a  fuggir. 

In  vain  T  murmur  against  the  snares 
Vol.  X.  No.  Z.V. 


of  Love  ;  he  will  assert  his  stiwy  spite 
of  my  heart:  armed  with  shafts,  he 
is  ready  to  strike ;  sivift  are  his  wings', 
if  I  attempt  to  escape. 

In  this  couplet,  eminently  ana- 
creontic, the  sentiment  is  not  of 
a  serious  cast;  the  poet,  it  is  true, 
complains  of  the  irresistible  power 
of  love,  but  the  universality  of  the 
grievance  excludes  all  sympathy 
with  the  sufferer.  It  is  the  com- 
plaint of  a  Don  Giovanni,  an  ex- 
cuse for  being  exceedingly  amor- 
ous. Not  but  that  there  are  bards, 
and  not  a  few,  whose  chilled  and 
gloomy  feelings  would  have  held 
it  a  point  of  compositorial  duty  to 
handle  our  lines  vastly  ffebi/e,  and 
make  a  ballad  of  it  of  drawling 
sentimentality,  slinking  into  a 
minore  twang  at  the  8th  bar  pre- 
cisely, more  majorum ;  and,  if  the 
effort  were  transcendental,  »we 
might  perhaps  have  had  the  bene- 
fit of  two  movements,  in  different 
times,  the  opportunity  at  the  latter 
half  being  too  fine  to  be  missed; 
besides  a  quantum  sufficit  of  rai- 
lentandos,  and  a  dozen  or  so  of 
pauses,  to  drag  on  more  heavily, 
and  a  touch  of  the  pictureso1ue 
withal,  expressive  of  the  twitch  of 
the  deadly  weapon,  and  the  flut- 
tering of  wings  of  the  arch  divi- 
nity. All  which  being  satisfacto- 
rily brought  forth,  nothing  would 
remain  but  to  get  the  opus  magnum 
moaned  off  by  a  sympathizing  vo- 
cal soul  with  a  long  face  and  night- 
cap on. 

But  duo  cum  fari tint  idem  von  est 
idem.  Mr.  Sor's  lover  is  the  Don 
Giovanni  we  supposed  him  to  be, 
and  he  takes  care  to  let  us  know  it 
lonp-  before  his  hero  opens  his 
mouth.  The  key  is  C  major,  and 
the  symphony  introduces  the  gen- 
3  B 


360 


MUSICAL   RF.VIKW. 


tleman  any  thing  but  mal  a  son  aise; 
he  comes  in  skippingly  and  fro- 
licsome, and  we  know  at  once  what 
to  make  of  him.  The  introduction, 
altogether,  cannot  fail  to  ensure  a 
good  reception  ;  it  combines  a  pe- 
culiar selectness  of  thought  and 
feeling,  with  gracefulness  of  dic- 
tion and  beautiful  symmetry:  it 
is  fresh,  blooming,  chastely  vigor- 
ous. 

The  voice  sets  out  with  a  subdu- 
ed but  captivating  niotivo,  inter- 
spersed with  a  very  attractive  in- 
strumental passage.  The  second 
distich,  "  Sara,  mio  sovrano,"  &c. 
appears  at  first,  perhaps,  with  less 
contrast  and  emphasis  than  might 
be  expected;  but  in  its  repetition 
(p.  S,  1.  2,)  we  have  the  sense  in 
its  full  force,  and  rendered  strik- 
ingly impressive  by  a  magnificent 
system  of  accompaniment.  After 
the  first  four  lines  of  text,  the  key 
changes  to  G  major;  and  here  again 
we  observe  (p.  8, 1.  3,)  a  singularly 
sweet  instrumental  introduction. 
The  new  vocal  motivo  is  simple 
and  melodious;  a  finely  chequered 
accompaniment  with  crossed  hands 
steps  in  opportunely;  and  the  fre- 
quent repetition  of"  Ha  celeri  ali, 
se  tcnto  a  fuggir,"  gives  rise  to  an 
elegant  variety  of  vocal  amplifica- 
tions, and  to  several  interesting 
harmonic  touches,  until  this  por- 
tion is  finally  closed  in  its  new 
tonic,  G.  Among  these  vocal  pas- 
sage?, the  semiquavers,  p.  ft,  1.  2, 
might,  we  think,  have  admitted 
of  more  ease,  so  as  to  be  more  ge- 
nerally accessible  to  moderate  at- 
tainments. Two  bars  of  exquisite 
soilness  now  reconduct  us  into  the 
main  key,  C;  and,  with  it,  to  the 
resumption  of  the  whole  stanza. 
Here  the  four  first  lines  (text)  are 


repetition,  and,  after  those,  the 
beginning  is  made  for  winding  up 
gradually,  and  with  constantly  in- 
creasing energy.  A  favourite  bar 
of  instrumental  episode,  full  of  life, 
is  thrown  about  in  all  directions  be- 
tween the  text;  the  voice,  too, 
waxes  warm;  all  is  life  and  fire; 
transient  discords  appear  momen- 
tarily, to  aid  the  climax,  and  lead 
to  a  splendid  termination. 

This  ariett,  we  presume,  will  be 
the  favourite  of  the  three  with  the 
generality  of  amateurs;  its  extent 
afforded  scope  for  a  full  display  of 
the  author's  rich  fancy  :  it  is  an  har- 
monic picture,  of  the  finest  pro- 
portions, warm  colouring,  and  ela- 
borate finish. 

A  further  set  of  Mr.  Sor's  ari- 
etta (No.  VII.)  is  intended  for  our 
critique  of  next  month. 
"  La  Primarera"  Introduction  and 
Pastorale  for  the  Piano-forte,  com- 
posed, and  dedicated  to  Miss  Le 
Geyt,  by  W.  H.  Steil.  Pr.  2s.  (id. 
(II.  Harmonic  Institution.) 
The  introduction  and  pastorale 
are  in  the  key  of  F  major,  and 
both  have  a  strong  claim  to  our  fa- 
vour. In  the  pastorale  we  observe, 
in  an  eminent  degree,  that  style  of 
undulating  ease,  if  we  might  he 
allowed  the  expression;  that  ex- 
pression of  unruffled  tranquillity 
and  happy  innocence,  which  are 
the  true  characteristics  of  this  spe- 
cies of  movement.  The  main  mo- 
tivo is  quite  of  this  description:  it 
iloats  melodiously  on  our  ears;  it 
becalms  our  spirits.  It  reminds 
us  of  Winter's  "  Vaghi  colli  ameni 
prati."  But  besides  this,  there  are 
several  other  subordinate  subjects 
of  the  same  character  and  effect, 
such  as  (p.  4,  1.  1,)  where  the  prin- 
cipal theme  is  evidently  and  hap- 


MUSICAL    KLVIf'.W. 


S()l 


pily  imitated  ;  and  again  the  fine 
cantilena,  p.  6',  I.  1. — Thus  there 
is  no  where  an  absence  of  good 
melody,  that  primary  requisite  in 
all  good  music.  Between  these 
portions,  however,  we  find  abun- 
dance of  digressive  matter,  either 
in  the  way  of  modulation  (which 
Mr.  S.  has  kept  under  a  certain 
degree  of  controul,  and  very  pro- 
perly so  in  a  piece  of  this  kind),  or 
id  the  shape  of  passages  for  digi- 
tal execution.  The  latter  will  be 
found  tasteful,  and,  generally 
speaking,  free  from  difficulty. — 
Those  in  the  5th  p.'ige  are  of  pecu- 
liar merit  and  attraction,  and,  in 
some  instances,  quite  original. 
"  Oh!  wear  for  me,  my  love;" 
Poetry  by  Oscar ;  the  Rlusic  com- 
posed, and  dedicated  to  Miss  Tre- 
laicney,  by  W.  Henr}?  Steil.  Pr.2s. 
(liutter  and  Co.  New  Bond-st.) 
This,  we  think,  is  the  first  vocal 
composition  of  Mr.  Steil  that  has 
come  under  our  observation;  if  it 
should  be  a  first  essay  altogether, 
wre  can  only  say  that  it  is  of  a  very 
promising  description.  Kis  instru- 
mental pieces  have  on  every  oc- 
casion elicited  our  tribute  of  ap- 
probation; but  eminence  in  this 
line  is  as  frequently  unattended 
with  success  in  the  vocal  depart- 
ment, as  excellence  in  prose  may 
be  found  in  a  writer  of  indifferent 
poetry.  The  composition  before 
us  characterizes  itself  by  its  chaste 
simplicity,  a  peculiar  freshness  of 
expression,  and  a  great  purity  and 
efficiency  of  harmony.  The  ideas 
are  not  of  a  cast  to  which  one  can 
affix  the  epithet  of  absolute  novel- 
ty, but  they  are  quite  in  their  place; 
the}'  emanate  naturally  out  of  each 
other,  they  are  in  concordance 
with  the  sentiment  of  the  text,  and 


their  rhythmical  arrangement  fits 
well  the  metre  of  the  words.    The 
concluding  line,  "  A  gayer  wreath 
I    might  have  wove,  but  none  so 
sweet  as  this,"   merits  special  no- 
tice.    It  is  the  happiest  idea  in  the 
ballad;  there  is  something  peculiar- 
ly fascinating  in  the   turn   which 
the  harmony  takes;  the  appearance 
of  the  extreme  6th   has  the  best 
effect;  and  the  slight  variation  with 
which  the  same  passage  is  treated 
in  the  second  stanza,  is  equally  en- 
titled to  our  commendation. 
"   Palinodia  a    Nice"    in    Thirteen 
vocal  Duets,  zoith  an  Accompani- 
ment for   the   Piano-forte  ;  com- 
posed, and  dedicated,  by  permission, 
to  II.  R.  II.  the  Duke  of  Sussex, 
byJ.F.  Danneley.    No.  III.  Pr. 
2s.  6cl. — (11.  Harmonic    Institu- 
tion). 

This  is  the  third  of  the  series  of 
duets  which  Mr.  D.  has  announ- 
ced under  the  above  title.  It  pre- 
sents several  features  of  merit ; 
and,  upon  the  whole,  appears  to 
us  to  rise  above  its  predecessors. 
This  augurs  well  for  the  remainder 
of  the  collection.  In  the  motivo 
(A  major),  we  observe  considerable 
contrapuntal  contrivance  between 
the  two  voices ;  at  the  same  time 
we  will  own,  that,  as  far  as  our  in- 
dividual taste  goes,  such  tokens  of 
skill,  at  the  outset,  appear  to  us 
to  cornea  little  too  soon.  It  is  bet- 
ter at  first  to  tell  the  key  well,  in 
common  chords,  &c.  to  dwell  upon 
it  till  it  be  strongly  impressed,  and 
to  reserve  any  fugued  process  for 
the  sequel,  and  then  to  use  it  spar- 
ingly; especially  in  love-songs. 
The  second  portion  from  "  Tu  se 
con  te  m'aggiro,"  proceeds  in  an 
agreeable  cantilena  style,  and  de- 
rives effective  support  from  an  ac- 
3    B   2 


362 


MUSICAL    UMVIKW. 


live  accompaniment.  In  the  3d 
page  a  new  idea,  obviously  con- 
ceived in  A  minor,  is  suddenly  in- 
troduced on  the  chord  of  F  3.  The 
thought  is  not  amiss,  but  in  its  pro- 
gress we  have  to  go  through  the 
very  strong  succession  of  F  3,  E  7, 
in  which  hard  fifths  are  not  up- 
on paper,  absolutely,  but  certain- 
ly in  the  ear.  The  vocal  respon- 
ses, on  the  tonic  and  dominant,  are 
in  good  style.  In  the  beginning 
of  the  4th  page,  however,  the  har- 
mony is  led  from  A  minor  into  C, 
across  a  very  dubious  path :  we  ap- 
prehend it  would  be  difficult  to 
affix  to  the  bass  A,  A  b>  G,  C,  a 
set  of  figures  coinciding  with  the 
functions  assigned  to  the  right 
hand.  The  same  passage  is  treat- 
ed with  due  variety  in  the  sequel, 
a  few  bars  recitativo  intervene,  the 
original  subject  is  resumed,  and  a 
good  conclusion  winds  up  the  duet 
satisfactorily. 

We  have  on  various  occasions 
expressed  a  favourable  opinion  of 
Mr.  D.'s  talent,  and  these  duets 
confirm  our  former  assertions;  but 
we  fancy  we  perceive  in  them  at 
times  too  studied  a  display  of  the 
compositorial  scavoir  faire:  the 
laudable  aim  at  being  select  seems 
occasionally  to  have  held  out  temp- 
tations for  launching  into  the  re- 
cherche, into  something  like  what  is 
called  "  fine  writing"  in  literary 
productions,  at  the  expense  of  sim- 
plicity and  perspicuity. 

We  mentioned  in  former  cri- 
tiques, that  the  second  in  these 
duets  is  set  in  the  tenor  cleff.  As 
times  go,  this  circumstance  may 
confine  their  circulation.  The 
pitch  is  out  of  the  reach  of  any 
but  male  voices;  and  of  these,  we 
are  sorry  to  say,  three  fourths  at 


least  are  more  or  less  strangers  to 
the  cleff  in  question. 
Airs  and  Chorusses  selected  from  Mo- 
zart''s  celebrated  Opera  "  //  Flauto 
Magico,"  arranged  as  Duets  for 
two    Performers    on    the    Piano- 
forte, by  S.  F.  Rimbault.  No.  II, 
Pr.3s.-(Hodsoll,HighHolbom.) 
In  a  former  critique  we  called 
the  favourable    attention    of    our 
readers  to  the  first  number  of  these 
duets    selected   from   the    Magic 
Flute.  The  second,  now  before  us, 
possesses  equal,  if  not   stronger, 
claims  on  our  recommendation  :  it 
is  distinguished  by  the  choice  of 
three  pieces,  eminently  beautiful 
in  themselves,  and  well  calculated 
for  duets.     They  are,  "  Hm'  Hm' 
perche  menti" — "  Tre  bei  garzon 
lucenti" — and  "  Descendi  o  bene- 
fico figlio  d'Amor,"  all  which  Mr.  R. 
has  arranged  in  so  easy  a  style,  and 
yet  with  such  judgment  and  good 
taste  In  regard  to  the  preservation 
of  their  intrinsic  beauties  and  ge- 
neral effect,  that  their  execution  is 
sure  to  prove  a  fascinating  task  to 
well  disposed  pupils  of  moderate 
attainments,   provided    they  be  a 
little  steady  in  counting. 
"  Hear,  hear  my  prayer"  the  fa- 
vourite  Anthem  for   tzvo    f'oices 
sung  at  the  Oratorios,  composed  by 
the  late  Mr.  James  Kent;  newly 
arranged,  with  an  Accompaniment 
for  the  Organ  or  Piano-forte,  by 
John  Purkis.    Pr.  2s. —  (Hodsoll, 
High  Holborn.) 

Among  the  various  compositions 
of  Kent,  the  merit  of  which  has 
endeared  his  name  with  the  lovers 
of  sacred  music,  the  above  anthem 
maintains  an  eminent  rank.  It  is 
so  well  known  and  appretiated, 
that  we  need  not  add  a  word  in  the 
way  of  further  comment.    Mr.  Pur- 


MUSICAL    1IKVJKW. 


303 


kis,  as  might  be  expected  from  his 
acknowledged  talent,  has  done  his 
duty  by  his  author,  in  the  new  ar- 
rangement under  which  this  an  them 
now  appears.     This  is  particularly 
conspicuous  in  the  second  move- 
ment, the  fine  solo  in  A  minor.   The 
typographical   execution,    too,   as 
well  as  the  moderate  price  of  the 
present  edition,  is  highly  credit- 
able to  the  publisher. 
The  Hibernian  Hondo  for  the  Piano- 
Jorte,composed,  and  respectfully  in- 
scribedy    by  permission,   to    Lady 
Louisa   Cornwallis,  by  E.  Frost. 
Pr.  2s. — (Metzlerand  Son, War- 
dour-street.) 

A  rondo  in  D  major,  |,  in  the 
progress  of  which  the  popular  air 
"  Fly  not  yet"  is  introduced,  or  ra- 
ther interposed  as  a  distinct  move- 
ment. In  the  second  half  of  the  first 
bar  of  the  rondo,  the  chord  E,  3,  4, 
6  $c  resolves  rather  awkwardly  into 
D,  4, 6 ;  but  the  whole  of  the  rondo 
presents  decided  claims  on  our  ap- 
probation: its  style  is  lively  and 
pleasing,  the  ideas  are  well  varied 
and  in  good  connection,  and,  in 
some  instances,  we  observe  traits 
of  clever  contrivance.  Of  the  lat- 
ter description  are  the  fugued  con- 
struction of  the  bass,  p.  2, 1.  6,  and 
the  further  evolutions  of  the  left 
hand  in  the  beginning  of  p.  3.  All 
this  is  quite  as  it  should  be,  and  the 
digressive  portions,  p.  4,  deduced 
from  the  air  "  Fly  not  vet,"  are 
likewise  satisfactory.  Of  the  in- 
troduction in  D  minor,  we  cannot 
say  much:  it  is  indifferent  as  to 
conception,  and  at  times  incorrect 
in  regard  to  harmony.  The  very 
first  line  will  vouch  the  latter  asser- 
tion: it  contains,  among  other  mat- 
ters, strong  fifths  in  the  successive 
chords  of  D  minor  and  C  major. 


Three  favourite  Waltzes  for  the  Pi- 
ano-forte, composed  by  E.  Black- 
shaw.  Pr.  Is.  6d. —  (Bates,  St. 
John's-square.) 

The  name  of  this  author  appears 
for  the  first  time,  we  believe,  in  our 
review,  and  although  the  publica- 
tion is  of  a  class  from  which  a  com- 
poser cannot  form  great  expecta- 
tions, we  must  do  Mr.  B.  thejustice 
to  say,  that  his  waltzes  are  satisfac- 
tory and  agreeable.  The  third,  al- 
though less  fit  for  the  ball-room 
than  the  others,  has  a  pretty  trio. 
The  constantrepetition  of  the  parts 
in  the  octave,  however  frequent 
the  practice  may  be,  does  not  add 
to  effect,  in  our  opinion. 

*fl.*  The  publisher  of  the  Repository 
has  put  into  our  hands  a  letter,  containing 
a  request  that  we  would  notice  two  er- 
rors in  last  month's  Musical  Critique. 
Our  readers  may  ere  this  have  had  op- 
portunities of  .seeing,  thatwe  are  tar  from 
laying  pretensions  to  any  thing  like  infal- 
libility of  judgment,  especially  in  musi- 
cal matters,  which  often  depend  more  up- 
on taste,  and  even  fashion,  than  upon 
fixed  principles;  and  although  we  en- 
deavour at  all  times  to  give  the  subject 
the  most  deliberate  reflection  in  our  pow- 
er, vet  the  pressure  of  time  under  which 
our  critical  labours  are  frequently  exe- 
cuted, might  occasionally  be  a  further 
cause  of  error  on  our  part.  Impressed 
with  these  considerations,  instead  of  dis- 
couraging applications  of  the  above  de- 
scription, we  shall  at  all  times  be  ready 
to  attend  to  them  with  candour  and  im- 
partiality; and  if  they  are  such  as  to  con- 
vince us  of  our  error,  we  shall  deem  it  a 
solemn  duty  to  confess  frankly,  that  we 
have  been  in  the  wrong. 

When  this  conviction  does  not  altoge- 
ther come  home  to  us,  we  should  not  think 
ourselves  justified  in  troubling  our  read- 
ers with  the  charge  made  against  us,  ac- 
companied by  our  defence  or  explanation. 
This  course  we  had  at  first  intended  to 


564 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


pursue  on  the  present  occasion;  but  upon 
tardier  consideration,  we  feel  induced  to 
postpone  our  resolution:  first,  because 
the  application  in  question  was  evidently 
written  in  haste;  is  probably  incorrect  in 
the  quotation  of  a  page,  and  appears  in 
some  respects  not  sufficiently  explicit; 
secondly,  as  the  letter  was  probably  not 
meant  for  publication,  even  the  insertion 
of  an  extract,  which  we  could  not  well 
have  avoided,  might  be  deemed  an  act  of 
impropriety ;  and  thirdly,  as  the  author, 
in  alluding  to  a  further  criticism  on  the 
same  publication,  intimates  an  intention 


of  reconsidering  so  much  of  his  labour  as 
is  referred  to  by  us,  it  might  so  happen, 
that  a  further  application  on  his  part 
would  require  a  second  explanation  on 
ours. 

If,  therefore,  the  author  of  the  letter 
in  question  will  favour  us  with  an  expli- 
cit statement  of  all  his  objections  to  our 
criticism,  we  shall  give  it  insertion,  ac- 
companied by  an  answer  on  our  part. 
The  communication  ought  to  reach  us 
before  the  10th  December,  to  have  a 
place  in  the  next  Number  of  the  Repo* 
pository. 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON  FASHIONS. 


PLATE  34-. — WALKING   BRESS. 

A  high  dress  composed  of  bright 
grey  bombasine:  the  skirt  is  trim- 
med at  the  bottom  with  velvet  bands 
to  correspond  in  colour;  they  are 
bias;  are  scolloped  at  one  edge, 
and  plain  at  the  other:  there  are 
four  of  these  bands,  placed  at  a 
little  distance  from  each  other;  the 
bottom  one  is  rather  more  than  half 
a  quarter  in  breadth;  the  others 
are  each  something  narrower.  The 
body  is  tight  to  the  shape:  the  long 
sleeve  is  rather  straight,  and  falls 
a  good  deal  over  the  hand;  it  is 
finished  by  three  bands  of  velvet 
to  correspond  with  those  on  the 
skirtjbntmuch  narrower :  fullepau- 
lette,  intersected  with  bands,  which 
form  it  into  bias  puffs :  small  stand- 
ing collar,  composed  of  velvet.  The 
pelisse  worn  with  this  dress  is  com- 
posed of  velours  simule,  lined  with 
sarsnet,  and  wadded;  the  colour  an 
Egyptian  brown  :  the  skirt  is  ra- 
ther wide;  it  is  finished  at  the  bot- 
tom by  a  broad  band  of  velvet  to 
uovreppond,  above  which  is  placed 


a  trimming  of  the  same  material 
as  the  pelisse  :  it  consists  of  two 
thick  rolls,  one  of  which  is  wreath- 
ed in  a  serpentine  direction  round 
the  other,  and  both  are  ornament- 
ed with  narrow  folds  of  satin  and 
gros  de  Naples  mixed,  which  are 
fancifully  twisted  round  them. 
The  fronts  are  fastened  up  by  full 
bows  and  ends.  The  waist  is  of  a 
moderate  length;  and  the  body, 
which  is  plain,  is  almost  concealed 
by  a  large  pelerine  trimmed  with 
velvet  to  correspond.  The  sleeve 
is  of  moderate  width;  it  is  finished 
at  the  hand  with  velvet.  High 
standing  collar,  fastened  in  front 
by  a  full  bow.  Head-dress,  a  bon- 
net to  correspond  in  colour  with 
the  pelisse:  it  is.  a  mixture  of  vel- 
vet and  gros  de  Naples ;  the  crown, 
low  and  somewhat  of  a  melon  shape, 
is  covered  with  scollops  of  gros  de 
Naples,  edged  with  velvet,  which 
stand  up  round  it,  and  form  a  clus- 
ter on  the  summit.  The  front  is 
very  deep ;  it  is  rounded  at  the  cor- 
ners, and  finished  at  the  edge  by 


:d>jress 


FTUILIL    ■  B>F 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASJ1IOX    AND    DRESS. 


Sf»5 


a  band  of  bias  velvet  ;  a  bias  band 
of  satin,  laid  on  in  folds,  is  attached 
to  the  edge  of  the  velvet,  wliieh  is 
next  the  crown;  and  satin  bows, 
fastened  with  a  knot  in  the  middle, 
are  placed  at  regular  distances.  A 
full  bouquet  of  roses  mixed  with 
fancy  flowers,  ornaments  one  side 
of  the  crown,  and  Egyptian  brown 
strings  tie  it  under  the  chin.  Half- 
boots,  to  correspond  with  the  pe- 
lisse.    Limeric  gloves. 

PLATE  35. — FULL  DRESS. 
A  pink  figured  satin  slip,  termi- 
nated at  the  bottom  by  a  full  rou- 
leau of  grm  dc  Naples  to  corre- 
spond, over  which  is  a  white  lace 
dress  of  Urling's  manufacture,  fi- 
nished at  the.  bottom  by  a  very  full 
fall  of  imitation  Valenciennes  lace, 
headed  by  a  narrow  rouleau  of  pink 
figured  satin  ;  bouquets  of  mingled 
white  and  red  roses  and  blue  bells 
are  placed  at  regular  distances  on 
this  rouleau  :  a  second  flounce, 
headed  in  a  similar  manner,  sur- 
mounts the  one  we  have  described. 
The  corsage  is  tight  to  the  waist 
behind,  but  there  is  a  little  fulness 
at  the  bottom  of  the  front,  which 
is  confined  by  a  narrow  zone,  fast- 
ened in  front  by  a  gold  and  pearl 
clasp  ;  it  is  cut  low  round  the  bust, 
and  adorned  by  a  double  fall  of 
lace  set  on  almost  plain.  The 
sleeves  are  composed  of  pink  fi- 
gured satin  :  they  are  of  a  mode- 
rate length  ;  are  very  full,  and  fi- 
nished at  the  bottom  by  a  double 
fall  of  lace.  A  robe,  loose  from 
the  waist,  completes  the  dress  ;  it 
is  made  with  a  short  train,  and  is 
trimmed  round  with  a  mingled 
wreath  of  white  and  red  roses. 
The  hair  is  very  much  parted  on 
the  forehead,  and  is  dressed  in 
light  loose  ringlets;  the  hind  hair 


is  brought  up  high  in  full  bows  at 
the  back  of  the  head.  A  pearl 
bandeau  is  placed  rather  low  on  the 
forehead,  and  a  garland  of  min- 
gled white  and  red  roses  encircles 
the  crown  of  the  head.  A  white 
lace  scarf  finishes  the  coejfure;  it 
falls  from  the  crown  of  the  head, 
and  forms  a  very  graceful  drapery. 
Necklace,  gold  and  pearl.  Ear- 
rings, pearl.  White  kid  gloves, and 
white  silk  slippers. 

We  are  indebted  to  Miss  Pier- 
pcint,  inventress  of  the  corset  a  la 
Grecque*  No.  9,  Henrietta-street, 
Covent- Garden,  for  both  these 
dresses. 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON 
FASHION    AND    DRESS. 

Walking  dress  begins  now  to  as- 
sume a  very  wintry  appearance: 
cloth  and  velvet  pelisses  are  very 
general  for  the  promenade;  there 
is  nothing  remarkable  in  their 
form.  Waists  are  the  usual  length; 
the  bodies  are  tight  to  the  shape; 
sleeves  are  rather  tight,  and  are 
still  worn  very  long;  and  the  half- 
sleeve,  unless  the  pelisse  is  trim- 
med with  fur,  is  made  very  full. 
We  have  noticed  also  that  the  skirts 
of  pelisses  are  wider  and  less  gored 
than  they  were  last  season.  It  is 
yet  too  early  for  us  to  have  much 
to  say  on  the  subject  of  triaimings : 
fur  is  very  general  with  cloth  pe- 
lisses, and  is  worn  in  the  same 
manner  as  last  year,  that  is  to  say, 
a  very  broad  band  goes  all  round 
the  pelisse ;  and  the  epaulettes, 
collar,  and  cuffs  correspond.  Vel- 
vet pelisses  are  mostly  trimmed 
with  satin;  and  silk  ones,  which 
are  still  in  considerable  request, 
and  which  we  must  observe  are  al- 
ways wadded,  are  either  trimmed 


366 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS   ON   FASHION   AND   DRESS. 


with  fur,  or  with  a  mixture  of  satin 
and  velvet. 

The  material  which  the  French 
call  velours  simitlc  has  recently  been 
very  much  used  both  for  pelisses 
and  dresses  :  there  is  a  new  kind, 
which  has  lately  been  much  worn  : 
it  is  a  singularly  durable  and  beau- 
tiful stuff;  it  has  the  appearance 
of  rich  silk,  but  in  reality  is  com- 
posed of  one  half  cotton,  and  the 
other  silk:  it  is,  however,  so  very 
well  made,  that  the  materials  can 
only  be  known  by  the  touch.  There 
is  much  variety  in  this  sort  of  stuff: 
it  is  figured,  corded,  and  spotted. 

There  is  also  another  descrip- 
tion of  velours  simule,  which,  though 
it  has  been  for  some  time  in  fashion, 
is  still  in  very  great  estimation  :  we 
mean  that  very  rich  silk,  the  ground 
of  which  is  thrown  up  so  as  to  re- 
semble velvet:  this  is  also  of  vari- 
ous patterns. 

Pelisses,  or  high  dresses,  which 
are  worn  with  very  rich  shawls, 
now  form  the  out-door  costume. 
Spencers  have  entirely  disappear- 
ed. Muffs  are  universally  adopted  : 
our  anticipation  last  month  was 
correct;  they  are  worn  large.  Tip- 
pets have  not  yet  become  general. 

Bonnets  are  with  us,  as  in  France, 
of  a  great  variety  of  materials, 
and  some  of  them  not  very  season- 
able. The  major  part,  however, 
of  those  worn  for  the  promenade, 
are  appropriate  enough;  but  one 
sees  occasionally  bonnets  compo- 
sed of  lilac,  or  bright  rose-coloured 
gros  de  Naples,  profusely  trimmed 
with  blond,  which  have  certainly 
too  light  an  appearance  for  the 
time  of  year.  Velvet  mixed  with 
satin  or  gros  de  Naples  is  very 
much  in  favour.  Black  Leghorn 
is  also  fashionable,  and  beaver  be- 


I  gins  to  be  worn,  though  only  par- 
tially so.  Winter  flowers  and  fea- 
thers are  so  equally  in  favour  that 
we  know  not  to  which  to  give  the 
preference. 

Bonnets  have  experienced  no 
reduction  in  size;  on  the  contrarv, 
we  think  they  are  even  larger  than 
they  were  worn  in  the  summer : 
the  crowns  indeed  are  moderate 
enough,  but  the  brims  are  enor- 
mously wide  and  deep :  they  are 
all  rounded  at  the  cornets,  and 
some  are  very  shallow  at  the  ears. 
The  edges  of  the  brims  are  trim- 
med with  satin  or  Velvet,  or  some- 
times a  mixture  of  both.  Gauze 
mixed  with  satin  or  gros  de  Naples 
is  also  used,  and,  in  a  few  instances, 
we  have  noticed  gauze  mixed  with 
velvet. 

Silk  pelisses  wadded,  and  those 
made  in  velours  simule,  which  are 
also  wadded,  though  worn  in  pro- 
menade dress,  are  more  general  in 
carriage  costume ;  fancy  velvets 
also  appear  to  be  exclusively  worn 
for  the  latter.  Head-dresses  are  of 
velvet  mixed  with  satin  or  gros  de 
Naples;  Leghorn  and  beaver  be- 
ing worn  only  in  walking  dress. 

In-door  costume  affords  little 
room  for  observation  :  the  materi- 
als, either  for  morning  or  dinner 
dress,  have  not  varied  since  last 
month.  There  is  a  more  marked 
difference  between  dishabille  and 
dinner  dress  than  there  has  been 
for  some  seasons  past.  Silk  is  not 
at  all  worn  in  the  former,  but  we 
observe  that  poplin  is  indiscrimi- 
nately used  in  both. 

Velvet  begins  to  be  a  good  deal 
worn  in  trimmings:  many  morning 
dresses  are  trimmed,  like  the  one 
described  in  our  print,  with  bands ; 
others  have  a  fulness  of  the  same 


*Ki;NCi'l    PUMALR    FASHIONS. 


.367 


material,  or  of  silk, intersected  with 
narrow  rouleaus  of  velvet.  We 
have  observed  some  dinner  gowns 
trimmed  with  satin  puds,  with 
wreaths  of  velvet  leaves  between. 
A  good  many  dresses  are  adorned 
with  velvetbands disposed  in  waves: 
these  bands  are  very  narrow;  there 
are  generally  six  or  eight  of  them, 
and  they  are  put  pretty  close  to 
each  other  :  there  is  always  a  deep 
flounce  of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress,  or  else  a  full  rouleau  of 
velvet,  put  at  the  very  bottom  of 
gowns  trimmed  with  bands  in 
waves. 

Figured  satin  seems  likely  to  be 
a  great  deal  worn  in  full  dress:  it 
is  used  both  for  gowns  and  slips;  it 
has  an  uncommonly  beautiful  ef- 
fect under  white  lace  or  transpa- 
rent gauze  dresses.  We  have  little 
to  notice  in  full  dress  trimmings: 
one  of  the  prettiest  that  we  have 
teen  was  to  a  white  satin  dress:  it 
was  composed  of  festoons  of  white 
gauze,  which  were  finished  at  the 
edge  with  a  rich  trimming  of  da- 
mask rose-coloured  moss  silk,  and 
fastened  up  with   small   bouquets 


II  of  damask  rose-buds  mixed  with 
leaves:  the  moss  silk  trimming  was 

I  scarcely  an    inch  in  breadth,  but 
I  very  full,  and  had  an  uncommonly 
rich  and  beautiful  effect. 

One  of  the  most  tasteful  morn- 
j  ing  caps  that  we  have  seen  is  the 
i  Pamela  cornette:  it  is  composed 
of  white  lace,  and  is  a  small  mob 
cap  of  a  very  becoming  shape; 
the  ears  are  very  narrow,  and  go 
far  back.  The  caul  is  finished  en 
marmotte,  that  is  to  say,  there  is 
a  small  square  handkerchief  of 
white  lace  tacked  down,  and  the 
caul  beingfull, forms  puffs  between 
the  spaces ;  the  handkerchief  is 
edged  with  narrow  lace,  and  a  dou- 
ble border  of  narrow  lace  is  set  on 
very  full  next  the  face  ;  a  full 
plaiting  of  white  ribbon,  some- 
thing in  the  form  of  a  tiara,  is  dis- 
posed in  front,  and  the  ears  are 
fastened  with  a  knot  of  white  rib- 
bon under  the  chin. 

Fashionable  colours  are,Clarence 
blue,  rose  colour,  claret  colour, 
sage  green,  various  shades  of  ru- 
by  and  lavender  colours,  and  Egyp- 
tian brown. 


FRENCH  FEM. 

Paris,  Nov.  20. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

Ouit  promenades  at  present 
exhibit  a  very  gay  appearance: 
dresses  and  pelisses  of  the  lightest 
and  most  brilliant  colours  every 
where  meet  the  eye ;  the  only  thing 
one  sees  that  looks  like  winter 
dress,  is  here  and  there  a  solitary 
black  spencer;  but  these  are  very- 
few  indeed  in  number,  pelisses  and 
high  dresses  being  considered 
much  more  fashionable  :  they  are 
made  either  of  silk  or  fine  Merino 

Vol.  X.   Na.  LX. 


\LE  FASHIONS. 

cloth.     Waists  continue  the  same 

length  as  when  I  wrote  last;  but 

the  backs  of  dresses,  which  I  must 

observe  are  always  made  plain,  are 

j  narrower,    and   the   sleeve  comes 

I  higher  on  the  shoulder,  which  is 

j  certainly  very  disadvantageous  to 

the  figure.     Sleeves  are  verv  long, 

and  almost  tight  to   the  arm,  but 

the  epaulettes  are  very  full ;  they 

are  alwavs  made  to  reach  about  a 

third  part  of  the  way  to  the  elbow, 

and  are  confined  to  the  arm  by  a 

narrow   band    of    the   same   stuff. 

3  C 


368 


FKJiNCff    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


Collars  are  universally  worn  ;  they 
are  very  deep,  and  stand  up  veiy 
high  at  some  distance  from  the 
throat:  they  are  rounded  in  front, 
and  are  a  little  shallower  than  be- 
hind. 

Ruches,  though  so  long  worn, 
are  still  very  fashionable  for  trim- 
mings ;  they  are  made  either  of 
lutestring  or  gros  de  Naples.  If  the 
pelisse  is  of  cloth,  the  ruches  are 
of  silk  to  correspond  in  colour, 
but  if  it  is  of  silk,  the  trimming  is 
of  the  same  material.  Pelisses 
are  always  trimmed  with  a  double 
ruche,  which  goes  all  round;  and 
there  is  generally  a  considerable 
space  between.  Gowns  have  in 
general  a  greater  number;  there 
is  perhaps  four  or  five:  the  two  or 
three  last  are  generally  put  pretty 
close  together,  but  there  is  usually 
a  considerable  space  left  between 
the  two  nearest  to  the  bottom. 

When  the  trimming  consists  of 
crevts,  that  is  to  say,  puffs,  which 
are  always  drawn  in  the  Spanish 
fashion,  through  slashes  made  in 
the  dress,  there  are  always  two 
rows  for  a  pelisse,  and  they  go 
round  the  skirt,  and  up  the  fronts 
as  far  as  the  waist;  the  fronts  of 
the  corsage  and  the  collars  are  fi- 
nished by  a  single  row,  as  "is  also 
the  cuff,  but  the  epaulette  corre- 
sponds with  the  bottom.  I  forgot 
to  say,  that  when  the  dress  is  trim- 
med with  ruches,  the  epaulette  is 
made  very  full,  and  finished  at  the 
bottom  by  a  ruche  attached  to  the 
band,  which  confines  it  to  the  arm. 

When  the  gown  is  trimmed  with 
creves,  they  are  mostly  disposed  in 
an  irregular  manner;  and  there 
are  in  general  three  or  four  rows. 
I  should  observe  that  this  kind  of 
trimming  is  always  composed  of 
satin. 


Very  broad  bands  of  satin,  ho- 
neycombed, are  also  in  favour  for 
the  bottoms  of  dresses ;  but  they 
are  never  worn  to  pelisses.  The 
most  novel  style  of  trimming  is 
composed  of  satin,  disposed  in  what 
is  called  wolves'  teeth ;  there  are 
usually  two  or  three  rows  of  it  to 
the  bottom  of  a  gown,  and  always 
two  rows  go  round  a  pelisse. 

Spencers,  as  I  have  said,  are  not 
much  worn  ;  the  few  that  one  sees 
have  the  name  of  spencers  en  fichu, 
because  they  are  made  with  two 
very  deep  points,  which  fall  consi- 
derably below  the  waist;  these 
points  are  terminated  by  silk  tas- 
sels in  the  shape  of  acorns. 

Gowns,  whether  for  the  prome- 
nade or  home  costume,  are  worn 
with  a  girdle  of  the  same  material, 
so  ver}'  broad,  that  it  forms  in  it- 
self a  kind  of  bodice  :  this  girdle 
is  pointed  in  front  in  the  Grecian 
style;  the  point  reaches  to  the  top 
of  the  corsage,  and  is  finished  with 
three  small  silk  buttons,  to  corre- 
spond in  colour  with  the  dress. 

I  forgot  to  observe,  in  speaking 
of  trimmings,  that  they  are  now 
in  much  better  taste  than  the)-  have 
ever  been  since  my  residence  in 
France.  We  have  no  more  those 
p-larin^and  tawdrvcontrasts  which 
were  general  some  time  ago  :  the 
trimming  is  always  made  to  corre- 
spond with  the  dress,  or  else  it  is 
white  if  the  gown  be  of  rose-co- 
lour, or  rose-colour  if  the  dress  is 
white  :  this  is  the  case  in  grand 
costume,  as  well  as  in  promenade 
and  half-dress. 

Bonnets  are  still  worn  very  large, 
and  one  can  perceive  very  little 
difference  in  their  shape;  but  the 
quick  changes  which  take  place  in 
the  manner  of  trimming  them, 
gives  them  a  very  novel  appear- 


I'll  EN  CM    I  I.  MA  LP.    I'ASH  ION'S. 


369 


ancc.  Some  are  composed  of  sa-  I 
tip,  others  of  satin  and  pluche;  a  i 
great  many  are  made  in  velvet;  ; 
we  also  see  very  frequently  hats 
composed  of  velvet  and  gros  de  Na- 
ples, or  velvet  and  satin.  Grey 
hats  are  very  fashionable;  they  are 
always  trimmed  with  chenille 
flowers  to  correspond,  which  are 
disposed  in  drooping  bunches. 
Feathers  are  little  worn  in  the 
crowns  of  hats;  but  we  see  fre- 
quently short  marabouts  used  to 
trim  the  edges  of  the  brims;  they 
are  set  close  together,  so  that  the 
ends  fall  a  little  over:  they  have 
really  an  uncommonly  pretty  ef- 
fect, and  give  that  softness  to  the 
countenance,  which,  entre  nous, 
French  beauty  is  very  generally 
deficient  in. 

Many  hats  are  finished  at  the 
edge  of  the  brim  with  a  rouleau  of 
the  same  material,  beneath  which 
is  partially  seen  a  ruche  of  tulle 
tacked  inside  the  edge  of  the  brim. 
Others  are  adorned  with  a  double 
roll  of  the  same  material  twisted 
hard  together.  The  crown  is  some- 
times ornamented  with  rich  rib- 
bons, but  more  generally  with  a 
full  knot,  which  may  be  either  of 
the  same  material  oradifferentone, 
according  to  the  taste  of  the  wearer. 
You  would  suppose  that  this  must 
have  a  very  uniform  appearance; 
on  the  contrary,  it  diversifies  them 
very  much ;  for  every  milliner 
piques  herself  on  shewing  the  ver- 
satility of  her  taste  by  the  various 
forms  which  she  gives  to  her  knots. 

Another  ornament, which  is  much 
in  favour,  for  hats,  is  called  the 
Troubadour's  bow:  it  is  a  full  bow 
placed  in  front  ofthehatan  don  each 
side  of  it  is  a  steel  ornament.    The 


cliapcauu  r  Agnes  Sorel  is  among  the 
fashionable  novelties  :  it  has  a  low 
round  crown,  covered  with  puffs; 
the  brim  is  considerably  deeper  on 
one  side  than  the  other,  and  it 
bends  a  little  over  the  left  eye. 
Grey,  rose,  and  white,  are  the  most 
fashionable  colours  for  hats  com- 
posed of  silk,  satin,  grew  de  Naples, 
or  phi  die;  hut  velvet  chapeaux  are 
generally  made  either  in  black, 
amaranth,  or  that  dingy  hue,  the 
dried  currant. 

Flowers  are  still  partially  worn, 
but  they  are  now  composed  of  vel- 
vet and  chenille;  those  of  differed 
colours  are  more  used  to  decorate 
white  hats  than  those  of  any  other 
hue.  A  bouquet  a  la  jardiniere  is 
placed  on  the  left  side;  it  is  always 
very  large,  and  the  flowers  are  in 
general  ill  assorted.  Wreaths  are 
now  no  longer  worn. 

I  must  now  fulfil  my  promise  of 
sending  you  some  account  of  full 
dress,  for  which  white  satin  and 
white  gros  de  Naples  are  at  present 
most  in  favour ;  white  and  coloured 
crape  is  also  worn,  but  much  less 
generally  than  the  two  former  ma- 
terials. The  bodies  of  most  full- 
dress  gowns  are  cut  at  once  deco- 
rously and  becomingly:  they  are 
square  across  the  bust,  and  suffi- 
ciently high  to  conceal  the  bosom; 
but  they  are  cut  rather  lower  be- 
hind. The  stomacher  is  still  worn, 
but  it  has  varied  its  form  :  it  is  now 
composed  either  of  narrow  rou- 
leaus of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress,  or  else  of  strings  of  pearl, 
which  are  placed  perpendicularly 
on  the Corsage,  narrow  at  the  waist; 
the  spaces  between  are  filled  with 
tulle  bouillonne,  and  broad  tov. 
the  top :  the  shape  is  thus  formed 
3  C  2 


370 


I'RKNCJI    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


in  a  very  becoming  manner.  The 
girdle  is  always  of  the  same  mate- 
rial as  the  dress:  it  is  narrow  be- 
hind, but  broader  a  good  deal  in 
front,  and  is  clasped  before  with  a 
buckle  composed  either  of  pearls 
or  diamonds.  The  sleeves  are  al- 
ways made  very  full,  and  long 
enough  to  reach  almost  half  way  to 
the  elbow ;  they  correspond  with 
the  trimming  of  the  bottom  of  the 
skirt:  a  double  row  of  pointed 
blond  stands  up  round  the  bust,  and 
finishes  the  bottoms  of  the  sleeves. 

The  most  fashionable  trimming 
is  composed  of  bnuffons  of  tulle, 
disposed  between  large  leaves  of 
satin  ;  there  is  a  full  rouleau  of 
satin  at  each  edge  of  this  trim- 
ming. 

Another  style  of  trimming  con- 
sists of  rouleaus  of  satin,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  }*ard  in  length,  and 
pretty  thick,  which  are  placed 
lengthwise,  but  in  a  bias  direction, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  dress;  they 
are  edged  with  full  falls  of  blond 
or  tulle.  When  a  gown  is  trim- 
med in  this  manner,  the  front 
breadth  is  usually  decorated  with 
rouleaus  edged  in  the  same  style  as 
the  bottom  ;  but  they  are  placed 
crosswise,  and  are  progressively 
narrower  till  they  reach  the  waist: 
the  space  left  between  each  rou- 
leau is  always  about  the  breadth 
of  the  ornament.  This  is  a  very 
showy  trimming,  but  not  so  ele- 
gant as  the  one  I  first  described. 
When  the  gown  is  made  in  this 
manner,  the  bust  is  seldom  cut 
square  in  front,  but  generally 
slopes  down  on  each  side  of  the 
bosom.  The  bust  is  always  finish- 
ed with  a  rouleau,  which  goes  all 
round,  and  is  edged  to  correspond 
with  the  trimming. 


Head-dresses  of  hair  are  very 
fashionable,  but  dress  hats  are  stilL 
more  so.  In  the  former,  the  front 
hair  is  disposed  in  very  full  curls, 
and  the  hind  hair,  plaited  in  two 
large  bands,  is  brought  up  high 
round  the  crown  of  the  head.  In 
some  instances  a  lace  veil,  which 
forms  a  drapery  at  the  back  of  the 
head,  is  the  only  ornament  worn ; 
in  others,  a  profusion  of  feathers, 
either  marabouts  or  ostrich,  form 
the  coefj'ure;  and  many  ladies  in- 
termix the  front  hair  with  flowers, 
and  instead  of  braids,  have  the  hind- 
hair  fastened  up  in  bows  by  dia- 
mond, pearl,  or  coral  ornaments. 

Dress  hats  are  made  of  black 
velvet,  plain  and  figured  satin, 
and  quadrille  silk.  The  crowns 
are  low,  but  the  brims  are  deep; 
they  reach  only  to  the  ears;  are 
rounded,  and  turned  up;  a  single 
scollop  is  cut  near  the  left  side, 
and  very  often  a  white  satin  bow 
appears  just  under  the  brim  of  the 
hat  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead. 
The  front  of  the  crown  is  entirely 
surrounded  with  feathers,  which 
droop  as  low  as  the  shoulder  on 
the  right  side,  or  else  two  or  three 
flat  feathers  are  placed  to  droop 
from  the  right  side  to  the  left;  and 
a  band  of  the  same  stuff  as  the  hat 
is  fastened  at  the  base  of  these  fea- 
thers by  a  diamond,  gold,  or  steel 
buckle:  the  brim  is  also  frequently 
edged  with  steel  beads,  cut  to  re- 
semble pearls  in  shape;  and  these 
beads  are  likewise  used  to  orna- 
ment the  crown. 

Azure,  grass-green,  pale  laven- 
der, dove  colour,  and  white,  are 
the  colours  most  in  favour  for  pe-r 
lisses  and  gowns.  I  have  already 
told  you  those  that  are  most  far 
shionable  for  chapcaux.     Farewell, 


3 


VIEW    OF   GKNEVA. 


571 


my  dearSophia!  Remember,  I  shall 
expect  a  long  letter  in  return  for 
the  large  cargo  of  fashionable  in- 


telligence now  sent  you  by  your 
ever  attached 

Eudocia, 


PICTURESQUE  TOUR 

PLATE    32.— VIE 

So  much  has  been  written  both 
by  modern  and  ancient  travellers 
regarding  Geneva,  that  it  will  be 
necessary  for  us  to  say  little  on  the 
subject  of  the  view  inserted  in  our 
present  number,  and  which  gives 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  inter- 
esting representations  of  this  cele- 
brated city  yet  published,  either 
abroad  or  in  Great  Britain.  All 
the  public  works  and  principal 
buildings  are  seen  to  advantage 
over  the  tranquil  surface  of  the 
lake.  The  cathedral,  or  more  pro- 
perly the  facade  of  the  building, 
was  constructed  on  the  model  of  I 
the  Rotunda  at  Rome,  and  is  con-  | 
sidered  a  very  beautiful  specimen  ' 
of  architecture.  It  was  built  upon  j 
the  site  of  a  temple  dedicated  j 
by  the  Allobroges  (whose  country  J 
included  all  Savoy,  and  the  whole 
range  between  Lyons  and  Vienna,) 
to  the  Sun,  and  it  contains  seve- 
ral fine  tombs  of  eminent  men. 
One  of  the  noblest  and  most  ex- 
tensive prospects  is  enjoyed  from 
the  tower  of  this  structure:  it  is 
terminated  on  one  side  by  the 
mountains  of  Switzerland,  the.prox- 
imity  of  which,  united  with  other 


OF  MOUNT  SIMPLON, 

W    OF   GENEVA. 

minor  causes,  renders  the  climate 
of  Geneva  more  severe  than  that 
of  Paris,  though  the  latter  is  so 
much  north  of  the  former. 

The  first  author  who  makes  men- 
tion of  Geneva  is  Julius  Caesar, 
who  here  constructed  a  fortress, 
over  the  Helvetii,  with  a  wall  9000 
paces  in  length,  and  16  in  height, 
strengthened  by  a  number  of  tow- 
ers. The  city  was  twice  destroyed 
by  Roman  emperors,  but  various 
antiquities  yet  exist,  and  some 
fine  pavements  have  been  discover- 
ed. In  1366,  William  of  Marcos- 
sai  constructed  a  wall  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  town,  but  no  part 
of  it  now  remains  but  what  is  call- 
ed the  Tour  Mail r esse. 

The  vicinity  of  Geneva  is  most 
delightful,  presenting  views  of 
every  description.  There  is  also 
an  abundance  of  public  walks, 
particularly  on  the  bastions  and 
St.  Anthonv's-square,  from  whence 
the  rising  ground  on  the  side  of 
Coligny  is  seen,  decorated  with  a 
vast  number  of  rural  residences. 
From  hence  the  view  extends  as 
far  as  Mount  Buet. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 

Mr.  Ackermann  has  issued  pro-  n  for  the  purpose  by  Messrs.  Pugin 
posals  for  publishing,  in  six  month-  I  and  Gendall.  It  will  be  printed  in 
ly  parts,  An  Historical  and  Pictu-  the  same  size  and  style  as  his  other 
resque  Tour  of  the  Seine  from  Paris    illustrated  works,  and  the  first  part 


to  the  Sea,  illustrated   by  twenty- 
four  highly  finished  and  coloured 


will  appear  on  the  1st  of  Jan.  lSiil. 
The  same  publisher  is  also  pre- 


engravings,  from    drawings   made     paring  .-/    Description  (f  (lie  Man- 


Tt% 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


ners,  Customs,  S)C  of  the  People  of 
Dalmntia,  Iltyria,  and  the  adjacent 
Countries,  in  two  pocket  volumes, 
embellished  with  thirty-two  co- 
loured plates.  This  work  will  form 
the  commencement  of  a  series,  in- 
tended to  embrace  all  the  nations 
of  the  globe,  and  to  be  denomina- 
ted The  World  in  Miniature. 

Mr.  Latham  has  announced  his 
intention  of  publishing  a  Complete 
History  of  Birds.  He  will  take  his 
well  known  Synopsis  forhis  ground- 
work, but  the  whole  will  be  newly 
written,  with  numerous  emenda- 
tions and  corrections,  and  the  ad- 
dition of  considerably  more  than  a 
thousand  new  birds,  and  a  propor- 
tionate number  of  new  plates.  It 
will  form  nine  or  ten  4to.  volumes, 
containing  about  180  coloured 
plates. 

Professor  Robbi,  of  Leipsic,  has 
lately  published  a  German  trans- 
lation of  Mr.  Curtis's  Treatise  on 
the  Physiology  and  Diseases  of  the 
Ear.  The  subject  appears  to  be 
entirely  new  in  Germany,  and  the 
work  is  enriched  by  the  translator 
with  many  valuable  notes,  highly 
complimentary  to  the  author,  and 
strongly  recommending  to  his 
countrymen  an  institution  similar 
to  the  Royal  Dispensary  for  cur- 
ingDiseases  of  the  Ear  in  thiscoun- 
try.  To  his  translation  is  prefixed 
Mr.  Curtis's  original  plate  of  acou- 
stic instruments  for  assisting  hear- 
ing. 

A  prospectus  of  an  uniform  edi- 
tion, in  8vo.  of  the  whole  Works  of 
the  Right  Rev.  Jeremy  Taylor,  D.  D. 
Lord  Bishop  of  Down,  Connor,  and 
Dromore,  has  been  circulated. 
The  work  will  be  dedicated,  b}- 
permission,  to  the  Bishop  of  Ox- 
ford, warden  cf  All  Souls  College, 


&c.  A  life  of  the  author,  and  a 
critical  examination  of  his  writings, 
by  the  Rev.  R.  Heber,  A.  M.  will 
be  prefixed. 

The  Beauties  of  Mozart,  Handel, 
Pleyel,  Haydn,  Beethoven,  Rossini, 
and  other  celebrated  composers, 
adapted  to  the  words  of  popular 
psalms  and  hymns,  for  one  or  two 
voices;  with  an  accompaniment 
and  occasional  symphonies  for  the 
piano-forte,  organ,  or  harp,  by  an 
eminent  professor,  in  one  volume 
4to.  is  nearly  ready. 

We  understand,  a  tragedy,  by 
Miss  Hill,  called  The  Poet's  Child, 
is  in  the  press,  and  will  shortly  be 
published.  The  author  is  a  young 
lady  of  great  promise,  and  her 
work  is  expected  to  meet  every  en- 
couragement from  the  fair  sex. 

The  General  Index  to  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  from  the  begin- 
ning in  1731  to  ISIS  inclusive,  is 
in  great  forwardness  at  the  press. 
It  will  appear  in  the  course  of  the 
present  year;  and  it  is  almost  su- 
perfluous to  observe,  that  it  will  be 
of  the  greatest  utility  to  those  who 
possess  the  whole  set  of  this  most 
ancient  and  best  supported  maga- 
zine. 

Mr.  Murray  is  about  to  publish 
a  new  edition  of  A  History  of  ?\ew- 
York,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  to  the  end  of  the  Dutch  dy- 
nasty, containing  the  unutterable 
Ponderings  of  Walter  the  Doubt- 
er, the  disastrous  Projects  of  Wil- 
liam the  Testy,  and  the  chivalric 
Achievements  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong, the  three  Dutch  governors 
of  New- Amsterdam;  being  the 
only  authentic.  History  of  the 
Times  that  ever  hath  been  publish- 
ed ;  by  Biedrich  Knickerbocker, 
author  of  "  The  Sketch -Book." 


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moved  to  more  extensive  Premises,  over  the  way, 
147,  Strand,  Somerset  House. 


(Circular.) 
WHOLESALE  #  RETAIL  LACE  HOUSE, 

392,    STRAND,    opposite  Cecil  Street, 
From  143,  CHEAPSIDE,  LONDON. 

MADAM, 

A  short  time  since  we  distributed  Specimens  of  our  celebrated  LACE,  for  which 
we  have  obtained  his  MAJESTY'S  Royal  Letters  Patent.  From  its  intrinsic  merits  it  met  with  the  most 
distinguished  personal  encouragement  fr«m  her  late  Majesty,  who  on  the  23d  July,  1817,  affixed  her  Royal 
Signature  (of  which  we  annex  a  fac  simile)  to  a  special  Warrant,  entering  us  as  lace  Manufacturers  to  her 
majesty  upon  the  list  of  the  Household;  other  Branches  of  the  Royal  Family,  and  a  great  number  of  the 
most  distinguished  Nobili  ty,  bae  gien  it  marks  as  u  nequivocal  of  their  approbation  and  patronage.  From 
this  liberal  encouragement  we  presume  now  to  enclose  you  Specimens  of  OUR  PATENT  THREAD,  of 
which  our  Lace  is  fabricated,  for  comparison  with  the  rough  and  fibrous  Cotton  thread  used  in  manufactur- 
ing every  other  description  of  British  Lace;  and  to  state,  thai  we  have  OPENED  the  above  House  for  the 
RETAIL  disposal  of  our  Manufacture,  of  which  we  have  a  most  elegant  and  extensive  Assortment,  com- 
prising FIGURED  and  FLAIN  NETS,  QUILLINGS,  DRESSES,  SCARFS,  VEILS,  HANDKERCHIEFS, 
LACES, HONITON  FLOWERS, BRUSSELS  SPRIGS, and  every  other  description  of  Lace  whatsoever. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  here  to  descant  upon  the  peculiar  Beauties  and  Excellencies  of 
our  Manufacture  (in  some  points  rising  superior  to  the  most  valuable  Foreign  Lace)  as  its  exquisite  clearness 
and  transparency,  its  beautiful  colour  and  durability  (all  of  which  it  retains  after  repeated  washing)  are 
well  known  and  justly  appreciated  by  all  who  have  worn  the  Genuine  Article  ;  the  difference  in  the  enclosed 
washed  Specimens,  will  be  very  perceptible  on  holding  them  up  to  the  light.  But  we  feel  it  a  duty  we  owe 
to  our  numerous  Friends  and  the  Public,  and  to  our  own  reputation,  to  depart  from  our  original  intention 
of  vending  our  Lace  by  Wholesale  only,  for  it  is  notorious  that  the  Retailers  have  acted  towards  us  in  a 
most  unworthy  manner,  by  imposing  upon  purchasers  the  common,  rough,  and  fibrous  kinds  of  Lace  (con- 
cealing their  defects  and  making  thein  appear  tolerably  clear  before  they  are  washed,  by  starching,  &c  )  as 
I "RLING's  Real  Manufacture,  and  have  even  descended  so  far  as  to  take  the  Seals  otf  our  Lace  to  affix  to 
those  spurious  and  inferior  articles. 

As  numerous  Ladies,  of  the  first  rank  and  fashion,  who  have  honoured  us  with  calls 
at  our  late  Wholesale  Warehouse,  143,  Cheapside  (from  whence  they  were  universally  referred  to  the 
Retail  Houses),  have  been  thus  unhandsomely  treated,  they  will  see  the  necessity  of  applying  to  the  Pa- 
tentees direct,  that  they  may  depend  upon  having  the  article  genuine,  and,  of  course,  much  cheaper  from 
the  Manufactory  than  if  subjected  to  the  Retailers1  profit,  as  we  have  determined  upon  charging  the  Whole- 
sale Prices,  for  immediate  pajment,  to  all  who  may  favor  us  with  their  commands,  at  once  rendering  our 
House  the  most  distinguished  in  Town,  in  point  of  Cheapness,  as  well  as  for  the  superiority  of  its 
productions. 

Repeated  applications  having  been  received  for  the  Patent  Lace  made  up  into  various 
Articles  of  Millinery,  such  orders  are  respectfully  referred  to  MISS  PIERPOINT,  9,  Henrietta-street, 
Covent-gardeu   who  constantly  provides  a  general  Assortment  which  may  be  relied  npon  as  being  genuine. 

We  have  the  honour  to  be,  Madam, 

Your  respectful;  and  obedient  Servants, 

GEOo  FRED.  URJLING-  &  CO, 
Patentee** 

N.  B.  Ladies  may  view,  at  392,  Strand,  the  curious  and  interesting  Process  of  pre- 
paring Lace  Thread  by  our  l'utent  Machinery,  from  half-past  Jive  till  half-past  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
Parties  leaving  their  Cards  in  the  morning  mill  avoid  disappointment. 

As  many  Ladies  of  distinction  hare  been  much  phased  with  the  effect  of  the  Patent 
operation  npon  parcels  of  old  and  discoloured  Lace,  sent  by  them  to  be  Bleached  and  Improved,  me  shall  be 
happy  to  accommodate  any  oj  o,n-  Friends  by  receiving  Lace  of  every  description,  whether  Foreign  or  British, 
Which  they  may  nish  to  huie  made  a  beautiful  colour,  and  rendered  perfectly  clear  and  transparent. 

The  Patmt  Thread  for  Sewing,  Mending,  ^"c.  may  be  had  as  above. 

P.  S.  George  Frederick  Urling  $'  Co.  beg  to  inform  their  friends,  that  they  have 
mined  into  an  arrangement  mith  the  House  of  SAMUEL  IN  WIN  WHITE  &  Co.  34,  Giaftbn  Street,  Dublin, 
and  at  Ediogley  in  Nottinghamshire,  authorising  them  delusively  to  Manufacture  their  celebrated  Patent 
Thread  Lace  jor  the  Metropolis  of  Ireland. 


A. 

Anno  r,  the,  by  the  author  of  "  Wavcrly," 
extract  from,  948,  306 

Adventures  of  Dr.  Syntax,  32,   152,  292 

Adviser,  correspondence  of  the,  2,  64,  126, 
188 

All  right  at  last,  a  tale,  325 

American  Indians,  barbarity  of,  to  their  cap- 
tives, ys 

Anecdote  of  the  Duke  de  Berri,  82 

Anecdotes,  historical,  literary,  and  miscel- 
laneous,  189 

Literary,  historical,  and  person- 
al, 343 

Angelo,  Michael,  anecdote  of,  345 

Antipathies,  remarkable  instances  of,  343 

Arctic  Zoology,  extract  from  Seorcsby's 
"  Arctic  Regions,"  175 

Art,  intelligence  regarding  works  of,  in  pro- 
gress or  completed,  50 

Art  of  book-maikng,  20 

Atkyns,  anecdote  from  his  "  Original  and 
Growth  of  Printing,"  330 

Attwood,  review  of  his  "  A  rosebud  by  my 
early  walk,"  a  glee,  105 

Augustus  and  Cecilia,  a  tale,  142 

Auvergne,  the  music  of,  190 
B. 

Ballad,  a,  180 

Ballads,  origin  of  some  of  Mr.  Southey's,  217 

Balloons,  origin  of,  273 

Bartlett,  review  of  his  "  The  farewell,"  43 

Beale,  review  of  his  "  Ah !  tell  me  no  more, 
my  dear  girl,"  43,  300 

Berri,  Duke  de,  anecdote  of,  82 

Betrolhment,  the  (continued  from  vol.  ix. 
p.  284)  28 

Biographia  Litcraria,  Coleridge's,  extract 
from,  170,  241 

Biography  of  Mademoiselle  Raucourt,  the 
celebrated  French  actress,  203 

•-  Mantacini,  the  charlatan  of  Pa- 
ris, 275 

Blackshaw,  review  of  his  Three  Waltzes  foi 
the  piano-forte,  363 

Book-making,  the  art  of,  20 

Britton,  Thomas,  the  musical  small-coal- 
man, account  of,  314 

Burns,  Robert,  and  Helen  Maria  Williams,  70 

Burrow  es,  review  of  his  Series  of  Caledonian 
Airs,  wiJi  Variations,  40,  103,  176 — his 
Overture  arranged  as  a  duct,  104 

Butler,  review  of  his   "  La  Bellina,"  105— 
•   his  Hungarian  Waltz,   105 

C. 
Cards,  playing,   antiquity  and  use   of,  250, 
317 

Vol.  X.    No.  LX. 


Caribboes,  marriage  ceremonies  Of, 
Cassillis,  Countess  of,  account  of  he/  amour 

with  Johnnie  Faa,  192 
Cartoons  of  Raphael,  preservation  of,  333 
Cecilia,  Augustus  and,  142 
Charlatan  of  Paris,  Mantacini,  the,  275 
Charles  I.  marriage  of,  91 
—  character  of,  and  his  patronage 


of  the  arts,  :>.ii) 
Church  bells,  101 
Coleridge's    Biographia    Literaria,    extract 

from,  170,  241 
Cornubia,  by  the  Rev.  G.  Woodley,  extract 

from,  124 
Coronation  ceremonials,  by  Mr.  A.  Taylor,  77 
Correspondence  of  the  Adviser,  2,  64,  126, 

188 

D. 
Danneley,  review  of  his  **  Palinodia  a  Nice," 

104,    169,  361 — his  Introduction  to   Tho- 
rough-bass, 296 
Davy,  review   of  his   "  When  the  flame  of 

love  inspiring,"   106— -his  "  Oh^  farewell, 

dearest  one,"   169 — his  "  Love's  wreath," 

234 
Death-watches,  account  of,  344 
Debt  of  Gratitude  paid,  a  tale,  74 
Dramatic  Airs  arranged  as  rondos,   review 

of,  41 
Dream,  a,  320 
Dreas  and  fashions  of  our  ancestors,  on  the, 

200 
Dress,  ladies'  ball,  180 

Evening,  107,  234,  302 

Court,  52 

Cottage,  180 

Walking,  51,  107, 234, 301, 364 

Full,  365 


Dulness,  essay  on,  126 
E. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  anecdote  of,  343 
England,  on  the  dress  of  the  inhabitants  of 

in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  200 
Engraving  on  steel,  discovery  of  the  art.  of, 

290 
Essay  on  dulness,   126 
Evidence,  remarkable,  of  a  ghost,  271 
Expostulation  of  Sorrow,  248 

F. 
Faa,  Johnnie,  and  the  Countess  of  Cassillis; 

192 
Fairs  and  wakes,  origin  of,   165 
Fashions,  London,  51,  107,  180,234,  301,  364 
,  French  female,  55,  110,  182,  237, 


303,  367 

-,  General  observations  on,  53,  108, 


181,  235,  302,  365 
3  D 


374 


INDKX. 


Fashionable  furniture,  58,  185 

Female  Tattler,  the,  36,  95,  161,  225,  287, 
354 

Fine  arts,  45 

Foote,  his  account  of  his  comedy  of  u  The 
Patron,"  145 

France,  Sentimental  Travels  in  the  South  of, 
letter  xxiii.  208  ;  xxiv.  335 

Friends,  the  generous,  trauslated  from  the 
Spanish,  4,  152 

Frost,  review  of  his  Albion  rondo,  41 — his 
"  Le  chanteur,"  233 — his  three  Waltzes, 
299 — his  Hibernian  Rondo  for  the  piano- 
forte, 363 

Furniture,  fashionable,  5S,  185 

G. 
Gardening,  hints  on  ornamental,  1,  63,  125, 

187,  249,  311 
Generous   Lover,  the,  from  the  Spanish  of 

Cervantes,  83 
Generous  Friends,  the,  from  the  Spanish,  4, 

152 
George  II.  and  Colonel  von  Losecke,  229 
Ghost,  remarkable  instance  of  the  evidence 

of  a,  274 
Gratitude,  a  debt  of,  paid,  a  tale,  74 
Grosse,  review  of  his  Coronation  Waltz,  170 

— liis  Waltzes,  No.  ii,  234 
Gipsy  ehief,  Johnnie  Faa,  and  the  Countess 

of  Cassillis,  192 

H. 
Harris,  review  of  his  Ode  for  three  voices,  in 

memory  of  our  late  mest  gracious  Majesty, 

41 
H.izlitt,    extract  from   his    "   Character   of 

Shakspeare's  Plays,"  118 
Hermit,  Parnell'x,  origin  of,  340 
Heywood's  "  History  of  Women,"  quotation 

from,  217 
Hints  on  ornamental  gardening,  1,  63,  125, 

187,  249,  311 
Hodsoll's  collection   of   piano-forte   Ducts, 

No.  48.  299 
Howel,  James,  letter  from,  to  B.  Jonson,  263 
Human  nature  is  not  so  bad  after  all,  147 

I. 

Institution,  the  British,  45 

Intelligence  regarding  works  of  art  in  pro- 
gress or  completed,  50 

Intelligence,  literary  and  scientific,  02,  122, 
186,  216,  309,  371 

J. 
Jcricault,  M.  notice  regarding  his  large  pic- 
ture, 48 
Jones,  Paul,  particulars  relating  to,  25 
Jonson,  Ben,  letter  to,  from  J.  Howel.  263 


K. 

Kalkbrenner,  review  of  his  Air  with  varia- 
tions, 40 

Klose,  review  of  his  "  My  native  land,  good 
night,"  169— his  "  Wert  thou  like  me," 
233 — his  "  Poor  wretch  who  hast  nothing," 
233 

Krummacher,  Dr.  on  the  Rhinej  228 
L. 

Ladies'  walking  dress,  51,  107,  234,  301, 364 

•  Full  dress,  365 

Ball  dress,  180 

Evening  dress,  107,  234,  302 

— — —  Court  dress,  52 

Cottage  dress,  180 

Lang,  Dr.  Charles,  account  of  the  school 
conducted  by,  at  Wackerbarthsruhc,  322 

Library,  account  of  the  Vatican,  129 

Literary  and  scientific  intelligence,  62,  122, 
186,  246,  309,  371 

Literature,  Spanish,  essays  upon,   132,  261 

London  fashions,  51,  107,  180,  234,  301,  364 

Losecke,  Colonel  von,  and  George  II.  229 

Lover,  the  generous,  a  story  from  the  Spanish 
of  Cervantes,  83 

M. 

Mantacini,  the  charlatan  of  Paris,  an  ac- 
count of,  275 

Margaret  of  York,  account  of,   189 

Marriage  of  King  Charles  I.  91 

Marriage  ceremonies  of  the  Caribbees,  345 

Memoirs  of  myself,   13 

Metallic  vase,  notice  regarding  the  comple- 
tion of  Mr.  Thomason's  of  Birmingham,  50 

Michael  Angelo,  anecdote  of,  345 

Monro,  review  of  his  "  Take  him  and  try," 
42— his  "  Heroes  of  Albion,  in  your  glory 
weep,"  42  —  his  Majesty  George  IV. 's 
Grand  March,  42— his  Zodiac,  No.  5.  to  10, 
300 

Montagu,  Lady  M.  W.  on  the  Poems  of, 
230 

Poetical  talents  of,  280 

Anecdotes  of,  333 

Mount  Simplon,  Picturesque  Tour  of,  43,  85, 
138,  221,  285 

Music  of  Auvergne,  190 

My  own  choice  and  my  mother's,  a  tale,  219 
27  7 

Myself,  memoirs  of,   13 
N. 

Nature,  human,  is  not  so  bad  after  all,  147 

Needle-work,  on,  87 

— ,  answer  to  Sempronia  on,  155 

■ ,  remarks  upon,   191 


North  American  Indians'  barbarity  to  their 
captives,  98 

North-western  passage,  account  of  the  voy- 
ages for  the  discovery  of,   196,  261 


INDEX. 


375 


Q, 

O'Mcara.rev.of  his  Venetian  boat-song,  170 

Organ,  on  the,  35 

Ornamental  zardening,  hints  on,  1,  G3,  125, 
187,  219,  U]  P. 

Pamell's  Hermit,  origin  of,  310 

Parisian  Sketches,  7,  66,  137,  253 

Parry's  Thanet  Quadrille,  299 

Parting,  the,  a  picture,  248 

Passage,  north-western,  on  the  voyages  for 
the  discovery  of,   196,  261 

Patron,  the,  Foote's  account  of  his  comedy 
of,   115 

Paul  Jones,  particulars  relating  to,  25 

Perkins,  Fainnan,  and  Heath's  Siderogra- 
phia,  280 

Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount  Simplon,  43,  85, 
156,  394,  286,  371 

Playing-cards,  antiquity  and  use  of,  250,  317 

Poems  of  Lady  M.  YV.  Montagu,  on  the,  230, 
280 

Toetry,   124,   186,  248 

Purkis,  review  of  his  Fantasia  from  Mozart's 
"  II   Flauto   Magico,"  233— his    "  Hear, 
hear  my  prayer,"  362 
Q. 

Quadrilles,  selection  of,  233 

Queen  Elizabeth,  anecdote  of,  343 
R. 

Raphael,  cartoons  of,  333 

Raucourt,  Mademoiselle,  account  of  the  life 
of,  203 

Rimbault,  review  of  his  "  La  petite  Baga- 
telle,'' 105 — his  Mozart's  Grand  Sympho- 
ny arranged  for  the  piano-forte,  299 — his 
Airs  and  Chorusses  selected  from  "  II 
Flauto  Magico,"  362 

Repasts,  singularities  observed  by  different 
nations  in  their,  312 

Rhine,  Dr.  Krummacher  on  the,  228 
S. 

Sanderson,  review  of  his  "  Donald  and  An- 
not,"  105 

Sandwich  Islands,  account  of  King  Tamea- 
mea,  and  his  court,  346 

Schalken,  the  painter,  anecdote  of,   190 

School,  account  of  the,  conducted  by  Dr. 
Charles  Lang,  at  Wackerbarthsruhe,  322 

Scientific  and  literary  intelligence,  62,  122, 
246,  309,  371 

Selector,  the,  58,  113,  170,  241,  306 

Scmpronia  ou  needle-work,  answer  to,  155 

Sentimental  Travels  in  the  South  of  France, 
letter  xxiii.  208,  269;  xxiv.  335 

Simplon,  Picturesque  Tour  of  Mount,  43, 
85,  158,  221,  285,  371 

Siderographia,  the  mode  of  perpetuating  en- 
gravings on  steel,  290 


Singularities  observed  by  various  nations  in 

their  repasts,  312 
Sketches,  Parisian,  7,  66,   137,  253 
Smith,   review  of  his    "  The  tear  that  gem« 

dear  woman's  eye,"   106,  298 
Sor,  review  of  his  three  Italian  Arietts,  357 
Southey,  origin  of  some  of  his  ballads,  217 
Spanish  dances,  review  of,  106 
■  literature,  essays  on,  132,  26 1 

Spinbrain,  Sam,  his  letter  to  the  editor,  258 
Stael,  Madame  de,  Sketch  of  the  Character 

and  Writings  of,  extract  from,  58,   113 
Steel,  mode  of  perpetuating  engravings  on, 

290 
Steil,  review  of  his  "  La  rrimavcra,"  360 — his 

"  Oh!  wear  for  me,  my  love,"  361 
Surnames,  remarks  on,  151 
Swift,  Dean,  ancestry  of,   189 
Syntax,  Dr.  Adventures  of,  32,  158 

in  Search  of  a  Wife,  292 

T. 
Tameamea   King  of  the  Sandwich  Islands, 

and  his  court,  346 
Tattler,  the  Female,  36,  95,  161,  225,  287, 

354 
Thomason,  Mr.  of  Birmingham,    notice  of 

the  completion  of  his  great  metallic  vase, 

50 
Thorough-bass,  Danneley's  introduction  to, 

296 
Tobacco,  bull  of  Pope  Urban  VIII.  against 

the  use  of,  345 
Travels,  Sentimental,  in  the  South  of  France, 

letters  xxiii.  208;    xxiv.  335 
V. 
Valentine's  day,  on  the  observance  of,  36 
Vauderdort,  anecdote  of,  331 
Vase,  metallic,   notice  regarding   the   com- 
pletion of,  at  Birmingham,  50 
Vatican  library,  account  of,   129 
Voyages  for  the  discovery  of  the  north-west- 
ern passage,  account  of  the,  196,  261 
W. 
Wackerbarthsruhe,  account  of  the  school  at, 

conducted  by  Dr.  Charles  Lang,  322 
Wakes  and  fairs,  origin  of,  165 
Watches,  death,  account  of,  344 
Weippert,  review  of  his  "  Di  tanti  palpiti," 

104 
Wife,  the  good,  100 

Williams,  Helen  Maria,   and  Robt.  Bums,  70 
Woodley,  Rev.  G.  poetry  by,  121 
Work,  needle,  on,  87 

Y. 
York,  Margaret  of,  account  of,  189 

Z. 
Zoology,  Arctic,  from   Scoresby's  **  Arctic 

Regions,"   175 


END    OF   THE   TENTH    VOLUME. 


Directions  to  the  Binder  for  placing  the  Plates  in  the 
TENTH  VOLUME.  • 


No. 


LV. 


1.  Frontispiece 


Page 
to  face  the  Title 


2.  A  Garden-Fountain     ...       1 

3.  View  of  the  Isola  Bella,  ta- 

ken from  Stresa       ...     43 

4.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress    .     .     51 

5.  - — ■    ■   ■   Court  Dress    ...     52 

6.  Draperies  for  a   Half-sexa- 

■    gon  Bow-Window   ...     58 

7.  Pattern  for  Black  and  White 

Inlaid  Work. 
LVI.      8.  An  Ice-House,  Tool-House, 

and  Garden-Seat     .     .     .     (8 
9.  View    of    Pliniana,    on  the 

Lake  of  Como     ....     85 

10.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress    .     .  107 

11.  Evening  Dress     .     .    ib. 

12.  A  Prussian  Droscliki     .     .     .113 

13.  Pattern  for  Black  and  White     | 

Inlaid  Work. 
LVII.  14.  A  Bath       .     .     .     .     .     .     .  125 

15.  View  of  Sesto    .     .     •     .     .  158 

16.  Ladies'  Cottage  Dress     .     ,  180 

17.  Ball-Dress       .     .     .    ib. 

18.  Window  Drapery    ....   I;s5 

19.  Patterns  of  Black  and  White 

Borders  for  Inlaid  Work. 


No. 


Pace 


LVII  I.  20.  A  Rustic  Bridge      .     .     .     . 

21.  The  Inn  at  Marseilles       .     . 

22.  View  of  the  Bridge  of  Bave- 

no   and  of  the  Madre  Is- 
lands       

23.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress    .     . 

24.  — — —  Evening  Dress     ■     . 

25.  Patterns  for  Black  and  Wliite 

Borders  for  Inlaid  Work. 


L1X. 


LX. 


187 
216 


224 
234 

ib. 


26.   A  Conservatory      .     .' 
27.'  View,  of  Milan        .     . 

28.  Siderographia    .     .     . 

29.  Ladies'  Walking  Dress 

30.  Evening  Dress 

31.  Muslin  Patterns. 


249 
88fi 

290 
301 
302 


32.  A  Fountain    .     .     .     .     .     .311 

33.  Dr.  Lang's   School  at  Wac- 

.  kerbarthsruhe,  near  Dres- 
den ........  322 

34.  Ladies',  Walking  Dress    .     .364 

35.  Full  Dress       m    .     .  365 

36.  Viewef  Geneva      .    .371 

37.  Patterns  in  Black  and  White 

•  for  Inlaid  Work. 


L.  Harrison,  Primer,  373,  Strand. 


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